THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 


Gene  Fowler 


THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

VOLUME   TWO 


(  ** 


w 


"T7u  i  kind  ore  bvt  ahadoirx" 

— A  Midsummeb  Night's  Dream. 


THE 

MAHWaA  L  L  EJEham  QuF     T  f °M aE YflAM 

C(  SONAL,    ' 

C 

53TA8   3HDHAJ8  M3JJA  AJOIV 

-CAN  TEC 


BY 

WILLIAM    WINTER 


R3T5RAD   .3HM  3AMOHT  3UT3UOUA  3X313     3HM 


CU3I3HAW   QIVAQ  MR3HT03     H     3 


H03AM    HHOL 
3MAQA  30UAM  JJ38RMAD    .3HM 

STY 


MARY    ANDERSON  ADA   REHAN 

JULIA   MARLOWE 


VIOLA   ALLEN  BLANCHE   BATES 


MRS     F1SKE  AUGUSTUS  THOMAS  MRS.   CARTER 


E.    H.   SOTHERN  DAVID  WARFIELD 


JOHN    MASON 
MRS     CAMPBELL  MAUDE  ADAMS 


THE 

WALLET     OF     TIME 


CONTAINING  PERSONAL,   BIOGRAPHICAL,   AND 

CRITICAL  REMINISCENCE  OF  THE 

AMERICAN  THEATRE 


BY 

WILLIAM    WINTER 


"  Now  name  the  rest  of  the  Players." 

— Shakespeare 


VOLUME      TWO 


New   York 
MOFFAT,    YARD    AND     COMPANY 

1913 


COPYKIGHT,  1913,  BT 

WILLIAM  WINTER 


All  Eights  Reserved 


Published,  September,  1913 


V/73  W 

v.'z 

Cob,  % 


CONTENTS 


VOLUME    TWO 

CHAPTER 

I.     Mary  Anderson,  1859-19 —   . 

PAGE 
1 

"Romeo  and  Juliet"  .... 

13 

"As  You  Like  It"     .... 

19 

"The  Winter's   Tale" 

27 

Various  Performances 

89 

II.  Edward  Hugh  Sothern,  1859-19—:  Julia  Marlowe, 
Mrs.  E.  H.  Sothern,  1867-19—:  The  Sothern- 
Marlowe  Combination       . 

E.  H.  Sothern: 

"Hamlet" 

"Richard  Lovelace"   ..... 

"If  I  Were  King" 

"Richelieu" 

"The  Fool  Hath  Said,  'There  Is  No  God'  "     . 

Julia  Marlowe:     ...... 

"Ingomar"         ...... 

"Colinette"        ...... 

"Barbara  Frietchie"  ..... 

"When  Knighthood  Was  in  Flower" 

The     Sothern-Marlowe     Combination. — "Romeo     and 
Juliet" 

"Much  Ado  About  Nothing" 

"Twelfth  Night" 


47 

49 
54 
63 
66 

70 

73 
77 
80 
82 
84 

88 
93 
97 


VI 

CHAPTER 


III. 


IV. 


V. 


CONTENTS 

"John  the  Baptist"  . 
Redeeming  Grace  . 
Whitewash    . 

"The  Sunken  Bell"    . 

Glossary  of  "The  Sunken  Bell" 

Ada  Rehan,  1860-19—       . 

Ada  Rehan's  Acting  {Tilburina,  Mile 
Katharine,  Helena,  Oriana,  Rosalind, 
Mrs.  Ford,  &c.) 

David  Warfield,  1866-19— 
"The  Music  Master"  . 
"A  Grand  Army  Man"  . 
"The  Return  of  Peter  Grimm" 

Frank  Worthing,  1866-1910 
Cypress 


VI.  Maude  Adams,    1872-19— 

"The  Little  Minister"    . 

"Romeo  and  Juliet" 

"The  Eaglet" 

"Quality  Street"    . 

"The  Pretty  Sister  of  Jose" 

"Peter   Pan" 

"The  Jesters" 

"What   Every   Woman  Knows" 

VII.  Blanche  Bates,  1872-19—  ("Nobody's  Widow") 

"Under  Two  Flags"        .... 
"The  Darling  of  the  Gods"     . 
"The  Girl  of  the  Golden  West" 


Rose, 
Viola, 


PAGE 

105 
113 
116 
118 
120 

124 


165 


175 
179 

182 
187 

192 
207 

209 
211 
213 
217 
226 
229 
231 
232 
235 

239 
249 
252 
257 


CHAPTER 

VIII. 


IX. 


X. 

XI. 

XII. 


XIII. 


XIV. 


CONTENTS 

The  Acting  of  Mrs.  Fiske.— "Magda" 
"Little  Italy" 
"Tess  of  the  D'Urbervilles" 
"Becky    Sharp"     . 
"Leah  Kleschna"   . 
"Hedda  Gabler"    . 
"Rosmersholm" 
"Salvation  Nell"    . 

The  Sacred  Labors  of  Olga  Nethersole. — "Sapho" 

"The  Labyrinth" 

"Moral"  Plays 

Mrs.  Leslie  Carter  in  "Du  Barry"  and  "Adrea" 

Leaves  from   My  Journal:  "Zaza,  Sapho  &  Co. — 
Unlimited"  ...... 

Mrs.  Patrick  Campbell  in  Several  Plays. — "Magda" 
"Beyond  Human  Power" 
"Mariana"   . 
"Pelleas   and   Melisande" 
"Aunt  Jeannie"     . 
"The  Joy  of  Living" 
"The  Sorceress"     . 
"Electra"     . 

Laurence  Irving  in  America 
"Godefroi  and  Yolande" 
"The  Incubus"       . 

"The  Three  Daughters  of  M.  Dupont" 
"Laurence  Irving's  Holy  Task" 

Miscellaneous    Comment. — "Forget    Mc    Not"    and 
Genevieve  Ward  ..... 


vn 

PAGE 

262 
264 
267 
273 
286 
295 
298 
305 

309 
317 

322 

323 

333 

338 
342 
34-7 
350 
354 
355 
358 
361 
368 
369 
373 
374 
388 

405 


viii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTBB  PAGE 

Wilson  Barrett  in  "Ckudian"           .           .           .  410 

And  "The  Manxman"           ....  420 

"The  Second  Mrs.  Tanqueray"          .           .           .  425 

"The  Christian"  and  Viola  Allen       .  .  .435 

"It  Makes  a  Difference  Whose  Ox  Is  Gored"    .  443 

"The  Christian"  and  Its  Critics    .            .            .  444 

Reply.— 1 447 

2  "Our  Christian  Friend  Hall  Caine"  448 
"The  Children  of  the  Ghetto"  .  .  .  .449 
An    American    Eccentricity. — W.    H.    Crane    in 

"David  Harum" 456 

"Iris."— "The  Great  Realities  of  Modern  Life"  .  463 

"The   Thief" 471 

"The  Easiest  Way" 479 

"The  Thunderbolt" 488 

"Pomander  Walk" 496 

Leaves    from    My   Journal:   The   Wake    of  Mrs. 

Warren     .......  502 

XV.     "Oliver  Twist" 511 

XVI.     The  Plays  of  Augustus  Thomas  ....  529 

"Alabama" 530 

"Colonel  Carter  of  Cartersville"        .  .  .533 

"Oliver  Goldsmith" 537 

"The  Witching  Hour" 541 

"As  a  Man  Thinks" 548 


CONTENTS 


IX 


APPENDIX 

CHAPTER 

PAGE 

I. 

Ibsenites  and  Ibsenism       ..... 

559 

t 

"A  Doll's  House" 

562 

"Ghosts" 

567 

"The  Pillars  of  Society"          .... 

571 

"An  Enemy  of  the  People"      .... 

575 

"Master  Builder  Solnesa"          .... 

577 

"Little  Eyolf" 

585 

Summary      ....... 

590 

II. 

American  Actors   Abroad,  and  How  They   "Fail" 

There        ....... 

606 

III. 

The  Theatre  and  the  Pulpit        .... 

631 

Index     ......... 

649 

ILLUSTRATIONS 


VOLUME    TWO 


TO  FACE  PAGE 


Mary  Anderson,  Julia  Marlowe,  Ada  Rehan,       j 

Viola  Allen,  Blanche  Bates,  Mrs.  Fiske, 
Augustus  Thomas,  Frontispiece 

Mrs.  Carter,  E.  H.  Sothern,  David  Warfield, 
Mrs.  Campbell,  John  Mason,  Maude  Adams. 

Mary   Anderson, 8 

From  a  Photograph. 

Mary  Anderson  as  Juliet,  in  "Romeo  and  Juliet,"  and  as 

Rosalind,  in  "As  You  Like  It," 28 

From,  Photographs. 

Mary  Anderson  as  Galatea,  in  "Pygmalion  and  Galatea,"  .        42 
From  a  Photograph, 

Edward  H.  Sothern  as  Hamlet, 50 

From  a  Photograph. 

Julia   Marlowe, 76 

After  a  Drawing  from  Life. 

Julia  Marlowe  as  Colinette,  in  "Colinette,"  ....        82 
From  a  Photograph. 

E.  H.  Sothern  as  Romeo,  and  Julia  Marlowe  as  Juliet,  in 

"Romeo  and  Juliet," 92 

From  a  Photograph. 


XI 


xii  ILLUSTRATIONS 

TO  FACE  PAGE 

E.  H.  Sothern  as  John,  and  Julia  Marlowe  as  Salome,  in 

"John  the  Baptist," 112 

From-  Photographs. 

Ada  Rohan, 132 

From  a  Photograph. 

Ada  Rehan  as  Katharine  Minola,  in  "The  Taming  of  the 

Shrew,"  and  as  Peggij  Thrift,  in  "The  Country  Girl,"     146 
From  Photographs. 

Ada  Rehan  as  Rosalind,  in  "As  You  Like  It,"     .         .         .      156 
From  a  Photograph. 

David  Warfield  as  Herr  Anton  von  Barwig,  in  "The  Music 

Master," 180 

From  a  Photograph. 

Frank  Worthing  as  Charles  Surface,  in  "The  School  for 

Scandal," 204 

From  a  Photograph. 

Maude  Adams   as  Lady  Babbie,  in  "The  Little  Minister," 

and   as  Juliet,  in  "Romeo   and  Juliet,"        .         .         .      216 
Frovi<  Photographs. 

Blanche  Bates, 240 

From  a  Photograph. 

Blanche  Bates  as  The  Princess  Yo-San,  in  "The  Darling  of 

the  Gods," 256 

From  a  Photograph. 

Mrs.  Fiske  as  Becky  Sharp,  in  "Becky  Sharp,"  .         .        .274 
From  a  Photograph. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  xiii 

TO  FACE   PAGE 

Mrs.  Fiske  as  Tess,  in  "Tess  of  the  D'Urbervilles,"  and  as 

Leah,  in  "Leah  Kleschna,"      ......      292 

From  Photographs. 

Olga  Nethersole  as  Sapho,  and  Hamilton  Revelle  as 
Jean  Gaussin,  in  "Sapho,"  ..... 
Mrs.  Carter  as  Adrea,  in  "Adrea,"   .... 
From  Photographs. 


.      322 


Mrs.  Patrick  Campbell  as  Magda,  in  "Magda,"  .         .         .      354 
From  a  Photograph. 

Genevieve  Ward   as   Stephanie  De  Mohrivart,   in   "Forget 

Me   Not," 406 

From  a  Photograph. 

Wilson  Barrett  as  Claudian,  in  "Claudian,"  ....      418 
From  a  Photograph. 


<> 


Viola  Allen  as  Glory  Quayle,  in  "The  Christian,"  .         .         .44 
From  a  Photograph. 

William  H.  Crane  as  David  Harum,  in  "David  Harum,"   .      460 
From  a  Photograph. 

Virginia  Harned  as  Iris  Bellamy,  and  Oscar  Asche  as  Fred- 
erick Maldonaldo,  in  "Iris," 470 

From  a  Photograph. 

Kyrle  Bellew  as  Richard  Voysin,  in  "The  Thief,"        .         .      478 
From  a  Photograph. 

A  Scene   from   "The   Thunderbolt,"   as   acted   at   the  New 

Theatre, 490 

From  a  Photograph. 


xiv  ILLUSTRATIONS 

TO   PACE   PAGE 

A   Seen,'   from  "Pomander  Walk,"  as  acted  at   Wallack's 

Theatre 502 

From  a  Photograph. 

Edward   L.  Davenport  ) 

James  W.  Wallack,  tin-  Younger  ) 
Front  Photographs. 

E.  M.  Holland  as  Colonel  Carter,  in  "Colonel  Carter  of  Car- 

tersville," 584 

Front  a  Photograph. 

Russ  Whytal  as  Judge  Prentice,  in  "The  Witching  Hour,'"  .      542 
From  a  Photograph. 

John  Mason  as  Dr.  Seelig,  in  "As  a  Man  Thinks,"        .         .      556 
Front'  a  Photograph. 


I. 

MARY    ANDERSON. 
1859—19—. 

On  November  25,  1875,  an  audience  was  assembled 
in  one  of  the  theatres  of  Louisville,  Kentucky,  to  see 
"the  first  appearance  upon  any  stage"  of  "a  young 
lady  of  Louisville,"  who  was  announced  to  play  Shake- 
speare's Juliet.  That  young  lady  was  in  fact  a  girl, 
in  her  sixteenth  year,  who  had  never  received  any 
practical  stage  training,  whose  education  had  been  com- 
prised in  five  years  of  ordinary  schooling,  whose 
observation  of  life  had  never  extended  beyond  the 
narrow  limits  of  a  provincial  city,  who  was  undeveloped, 
unheralded,  unknown,  and  poor,  and  whose  only  qualifi- 
cations for  the  task  she  had  set  herself  to  accomplish 
were  the  impulse  of  genius  and  the  force  of  command- 
ing character.  She  dashed  at  the  work  with  all 
the  vigor  of  abounding  and  enthusiastic  youth  and 
with  all  the  audacity  of  complete  inexperience.  A 
rougher  performance  of  Juliet,  probably,  was  never 
seen,  but  through  all  the  disproportion  and  turbulence 
of  that  effort  the  authentic  charm  of  a  beautiful  nature 
was  distinctly  revealed.     The  sweetness,  sincerity,  force, 


2  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

exceptional  superiority,  and  singular  charm  of  that 
nature  could  not  be  mistaken.  The  uncommon  stature 
and  sumptuous  physical  beauty  of  the  girl  were  obvious. 
Above  all,  her  magnificent  voice, — copious,  melodious, 
penetrating,  loud  and  clear,  yet  smooth  and  gentle, — 
delighted  every  ear  and  touched  every  heart.  The 
impersonation  of  Juliet  was  not  highly  esteemed  by 
judicious  hearers,  but  some  persons  who  saw  that  per- 
formance felt  and  said  that  a  new  actress  had  risen 
and  that  a  great  career  had  begun.  Those  prophetic 
voices  were  right.  That  "young  lady  of  Louisville"  was 
Mary  Anderson. 

It  is  seldom  in  Stage  history  that  the  biographer 
comes  upon  such  a  character  as  that  of  Mary  Anderson, 
or  is  privileged  to  muse  over  the  story  of  such  a  career 
as  she  has  had.  In  many  cases  the  narrative  of  the  life 
of  an  actress  is  a  narrative  of  talents  perverted,  of 
opportunity  misused,  of  failure,  misfortune,  and  suffer- 
ing. For  one  stor3T  like  that  of  Mrs.  Siddons  there 
are  many  like  that  of  Mrs.  Robinson.  For  one  name 
like  that  of  Charlotte  Cushman  or  that  of  Helena 
Faucit  there  are  many  like  that  of  Lucille  Western  or 
that  of  Matilda  Heron, — daughters  of  sorrow  and  vic- 
tims of  trouble.  The  mind  lingers,  accordingly, 
impressed  and  pleased  by  a  sense  of  personal  worth  as 
well  as  of  genius  and  beauty,  on  the  record  of  a 
representative  American  actress,  as  noble  as  she  was 
brilliant   and   as  lovely   in  her   private   life   as   she   was 


MARY    ANDERSON  3 

beautiful,  fortunate,   and   renowned  in   her  public  pur- 
suits. 

Mary  Anderson,  a  native  of  California,  was  born  at 
Sacramento,  July  28,  1859.  Her  father,  Charles  Joseph 
Anderson,  who  died  in  1863,  aged  twenty-nine,  and 
was  buried  in  Magnolia  cemetery,  Mobile,  Alabama, 
was  an  officer  in  the  service  of  the  Southern  Confederacy 
at  the  time  of  his  death,  and  he  is  said  to  have  been 
a  handsome,  dashing  person.  Her  mother,  Marie 
Antoinette  Leugers,  was  a  native  of  Philadelphia.  Her 
earlier  years  were  passed  in  Louisville,  whither  she  was 
taken  in  1860,  and  she  was  there  taught  in  a  Roman 
Catholic  school  and  reared  in  the  Roman  Catholic  faith, 
under  the  guidance  of  a  Franciscan  priest,  Anthony 
Miller,  her  mother's  uncle.  She  left  school  before  she 
was  fourteen  years  old  and  she  went  on  the  stage 
two  years  later.  She  had  while  a  child  seen  various  the- 
atrical performances,  notably  those  given  by  Edwin 
Adams  and  Edwin  Booth,  and  her  mind  had  been 
strongly  drawn  toward  the  Stage,  under  the  influence 
of  those  sights.  The  dramatic  characters  that  she  first 
studied  were  male  characters — those  of  Hamlet,  Cardi- 
nal Wolsey,  Richelieu,  and  King  Richard  the  Third, — 
and  to  those  she  added  Schiller's  Joan  of  Arc.  She 
studied  those  parts  privately,  and  she  knew  them  all  and 
knew  them  well.  Professor  Noble  Butler,  of  Louisville, 
gave  her  instruction  in  English  literature  and  elocution, 
and  in  1874,  at  Cincinnati,  Charlotte  Cushman  said  a  few 


4  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

encouraging  words  to  her,  and  told  her  to  persevere  in 
following  the  Stage,  and  to  "begin  at  the  top."  George 
Vandenhoff  gave  her  a  few  lessons  before  she  came  out, 
and  then  followed  her  debut  as  Juliet,  leading  to  her 
first  regular  engagement,  which  began  at  Barney 
Macaulay's  Theatre,  Louisville,  January  20,  1876. 
From  that  time  onward  for  thirteen  years  she  was  an 
actress, — never  in  a  stock  company  but  always  as  a 
star, — and  her  name  became  famous  in  Great  Britain  as 
well  as  America.  She  had  eight  seasons  of  steadily 
increasing  prosperity  on  the  American  Stage  before 
she  went  abroad  to  act.  She  filled  three  seasons  at  the 
Lyceum  Theatre,  London, — from  September  1,  1883, 
to  April  5,  1884;  from  November  1,  1884,  to  April  25, 
1885,  and  from  September  10,  1887,  to  March  24, 
1888, — and  her  success  there  surpassed  in  profit  that 
of  any  American  actor  who  had  appeared  in  England. 
She  revived  "Romeo  and  Juliet"  with  much  splendor  at 
the  London  Lyceum  on  November  1,  1884,  and  she 
restored  "The  Winter's  Tale"  to  the  Stage  at  Notting- 
ham, April  23,  1887;  in  London, — where  she  carried  it 
through  a  season, — on  September  10.  She  made  several 
prosperous  tours  of  the  English  provincial  cities  and 
established  herself  as  a  favorite  actress  in  fastidious 
Edinburgh,  critical  Manchester,  and  impulsive  but  exact- 
ing Dublin.  The  repertory  with  which  she  gained  fame 
and  fortune  included  Juliet,  Hermione,  Perdita,  Rosa- 
lind, Julia,  Bianca,  Evadne,  Parthenia,  Pauline,   The 


MARY    ANDERSON  5 

Countess,  Galatea,  Clarice,  Ion,  Meg  Merrilies,  Berthe, 
and  the  Duchess  de  Torrenueva.  She  incidentally  acted 
a  few  other  parts,  Desdemona  being  one  of  them,  and 
she  acted  Lady  Macbeth  in  the  Sleep  Walking  Scene. 
Her  distinctive  achievements  were  in  Shakespearean 
drama.  She  studied  and  prepared  two  plays  by  Tenny- 
son, "The  Cup"  and  "The  Falcon,"  but  never  produced 
them.  This  record  signifies  the  resources  of  mind,  the 
personal  charm,  the  exalted  spirit,  and  the  patient, 
wisely  directed,  and  strenuous  zeal  that  sustained  her 
achievements  and  justified  her  success. 

Aspirants  in  the  field  of  art  are  continually  coming 
to  the  surface.  In  poetry,  painting,  sculpture,  and 
music,  and  in  acting, — which  involves  and  utilizes  those 
other  arts, — the  line  of  beginners  is  endless.  Constantly, 
as  the  seasons  roll  by,  those  essayists  emerge,  and  almost 
as  constantly,  after  a  little  time,  they  disappear.  The 
process  is  sequent  upon  an  obvious  law  of  spiritual  life, 
— that  all  minds  which  are  conscious  of  the  art  impulse 
must  at  least  make  an  effort  toward  expression,  but  that 
no  mind  can  succeed  in  the  effort  unless,  in  addition  to 
the  art  impulse,  it  possesses  also  the  art  faculty.  For 
expression  is  a  dominant  necessity  of  human  nature. 
Out  of  this  proceed  forms  and  influences  of  beauty. 
These  react  upon  mankind,  pleasing  an  instinct  for  the 
beautiful,  and  developing  the  faculty  of  taste.  Other 
and  finer  forms  and  influences  of  beauty  ensue,  civiliza- 
tion  is   advanced,   and   thus   finally   the   way   is   opened 


6  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

toward  that  condition  of  immortal  spiritual  happiness 
which  this  process  of  experience  prefigures  and  proph- 
esies. But  the  art  faculty  is  of  rare  occurrence.  At 
long  intervals  there  is  a  break  in  the  usual  experience 
of  Stage  failure,  and  some  person  hitherto  unknown 
not  only  takes  the  field  but  keeps  it.  When  Garrick 
came  out,  as  the  Duke  of  Glo'ster,  in  the  autumn  of 
1741,  in  London,  he  had  never  been  heard  of,  but 
within  a  brief  time  he  was  famous.  "He  at  once  decided 
the  public  taste,"  said  Macklin;  and  Pope  summed  up 
the  victory  in  the  well-known  sentence,  "That  young 
man  never  had  an  equal,  and  will  never  have  a  rival." 
Tennyson's  line  furnishes  the  apt  and  comprehensive 
comment — "The  many  fail,  the  one  succeeds."  Mary 
Anderson  in  her  day  furnished  the  most  conspicuous 
and  striking  example,  aside  from  that  of  Adelaide 
Neilson,  to  which  it  is  possible  to  refer  of  this  excep- 
tional experience.  And  yet,  even  after  years  of  trial 
and  test,  it  is  doubtful  whether  the  excellence  of  that 
remarkable  actress  was  entirely  comprehended  in  her 
own  country.  The  provincial  custom  of  waiting  for 
foreign  authorities  to  discover  our  royal  minds  is  one 
from  which  many  inhabitants  of  America  have  not  yet 
escaped.  As  an  actress,  indeed,  Mary  Anderson  was, 
probably,  more  popular  than  any  player  on  the  Ameri- 
can Stage  excepting  Edwin  Booth  or  Joseph  Jefferson; 
but  there  is  a  difference  between   popularity  and  just 


MARY    ANDERSON  7 

and  comprehensive  intellectual  recognition.     Many  act- 
ors receive  the  one;  few  receive  the  other. 

Much  of  the  contemporary  criticism  that  is  lavished 
on  actors  in  this  exigent  period, — so  bountifully  sup- 
plied with  critical  observations,  so  poorly  furnished  with 
creative  art, — touches  only  on  the  surface.  Acting  is 
measured  with  a  tape,  and  the  chief  demand  seems  to 
be  for  form.  This  is  right,  and  indeed  is  imperative, 
whenever  it  is  certain  that  the  actor,  at  the  best,  is 
one  who  never  can  rise  above  the  high-water  mark  of 
correct  mechanism.  There  are  cases  that  need  a  deeper 
method  of  inquiry  and  a  more  searching  glance.  A 
wise  critic,  when  this  emergency  comes,  is  something 
more  than  an  expert  who  gives  an  opinion  upon  a 
professional  exploit.  The  special  piece  of  work  may 
contain  technical  flaws,  and  yet  there  may  be  within 
it  a  soul  worth  all  the  "icily  regular  and  splendidly 
null"  achievements  that  ever  were  possible  to  proficient 
mediocrity.  That  soul  is  visible  only  to  the  observer 
who  can  look  through  the  art  into  the  interior  spirit 
of  the  artist,  and  thus  can  estimate  a  piece  of  acting 
according  to  its  inspirational  drift  and  the  enthralling 
and  ennobling  personality  out  of  which  it  springs.  The 
acting  of  Mary  Anderson,  from  the  first  moment  of 
her  career,  was  of  the  kind  that  requires  that  deep 
insight  and  broad  judgment, — aiming  to  recognize  and 
rightly  estimate  its  worth.  Yet  few  performers  of  the 
day    were    as    liberally    favored    as    she    was    with    the 


8  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

monitions  of  dulness   and  the   ponderous   patronage   of 
self-complacent   folly. 

Conventional  judgment  as  to  Mary  Anderson's  act- 
ing expressed  itself  in  one  statement — "she  is  cold." 
There  could  not  he  a  greater  error.  That  quality  in 
her  acting, — a  reflex  from  her  spiritual  nature, — which 
produced  on  the  conventional  mind  the  effect  of  cold- 
ness was,  in  fact,  distinction,  the  attribute  of  being 
exceptional.  The  judgment  that  she  was  cold  was  a 
resentful  judgment,  and  was  given  in  a  spirit  of  detrac- 
tion. It  proceeded  from  an  order  of  mind  that  can 
never  be  content  with  the  existence  of  anything  above 
its  own  level.  "He  hath,"  says  Iago,  speaking  of 
Cassiox  "a  daily  beauty  in  his  life,  that  makes  me  ugly." 
Those  detractors  did  not  understand  themselves  as 
well  as  the  wily  Italian  understood  himself,  and  they 
did  not  state  their  attitude  with  such  precision;  in  fact, 
they  did  not  state  it  at  all,  for  it  was  unconscious  with 
them  and  involuntary.  They  saw  a  being  unlike  them- 
selves, they  vaguely  apprehended  the  presence  of  a 
superior  nature,  and  that  they  resented.  A  favorite 
popular  notion  is  that  all  persons  are  born  free  and 
equal, — which  is  false.  Free  and  equal  they  all  are 
(theoretically!)  in  the  eye  of  the  law;  but  every  person 
is  born  subject  to  heredity  and  circumstance,  and  the 
individual  who  will  investigate  the  subject  will  perceive 
that  no  one  has  been  able  to  escape  the  compelling 
and    constraining    force    of    character, — which    is    fate. 


From  a  Photograph  by  Mora. 


In  the  Collection  of  the  Author. 


MARY    ANDERSON. 


MARY   ANDERSON  9 

All  persons,  moreover,  are  unequal.  To  one  human 
being  is  given  genius;  to  another,  beauty;  to  another, 
strength;  to  another,  exceptional  judgment;  to  another, 
exceptional  memory;  to  another,  grace  and  charm;  to 
still  another,  physical  ugliness  and  spiritual  obliquity, 
moral  taint,  and  disabling  weakness.  To  the  majority 
of  persons  Nature  imparts  mediocrity,  and  it  is  from 
mediocrity  that  the  derogatory  denial  emanates  as  to  the 
superior  men  and  women  of  our  race.  A  woman  of 
the  average  kind  is  not  difficult  to  comprehend.  There 
is  nothing  distinctive  about  her.  She  is  fond  of  admira- 
tion; rather  readily  censorious  of  other  women;  chari- 
table toward  male  rakes;  and  partial  to  fine  attire.  The 
poet  Wordsworth's  formula,  "Praise,  blame,  love,  kisses, 
tears,  and  smiles,"  comprises  all  that  is  essential  for 
her  existence,  and  that  bard  has  himself  precisely  de- 
scribed her,  in  a  grandfatherly  and  excruciating  couplet, 
as 

"A  creature  not  too  bright  and  good 
For  human  nature's  daily  food." 

Women  of  that  sort  are  not  called  "cold."  The  standard 
is  ordinary  and  it  is  understood.  But  when  a  woman 
appears  on  the  stage  whose  life  is  not  ruled  by  the  love 
of  admiration,  whose  nature  is  devoid  of  vanity,  who 
looks  with  indifference  upon  adulation,  whose  head  is 
not  turned  by  renown,  whose  composure  is  not  dis- 
turbed by  flattery,   whose  simplicity  is  not  marred  by 


10  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

wealth,  who  does  not  go  into  theatrical  hysterics  and 
offer  that  condition  of  artificial  delirium  as  the  mood 
of  genius  in  acting,  who  ahove  all  makes  it  apparent, 
in  her  personality  and  her  achievements,  that  the  soul 
can  be  sufficient  to  itself  and  can  exist  without  taking  on 
a  burden  of  the  fever  or  dulness  of  other  lives,  there  is 
a  flutter  of  vague  discontent  among  the  mystified  rank 
and  file,  and  she  is  called  "cold."  That  is  what  hap- 
pened in  the  case  of  Mary  Anderson. 

What  are  the  faculties  and  attributes  essential  to 
great  success  in  acting?  A  sumptuous  and  supple  figure, 
that  can  realize  the  ideals  of  statuary;  a  mobile  counte- 
nance, that  can  strongly  and  unerringly  express  the 
feelings  of  the  heart  and  the  workings  of  the  mind; 
eyes  that  can  awe  with  the  majesty  or  startle  with  the 
terror  or  thrill  with  the  tenderness  of  their  soul-sub- 
duing gaze;  a  voice,  deep,  clear,  resonant,  flexible,  that 
can  range  over  the  wide  compass  of  emotion  and  carry 
its  meaning  in  varying  music  to  every  ear  and  every 
heart;  intellect  to  shape  the  purposes  and  control  the 
means  of  mimetic  art;  deep  knowledge  of  human 
nature;  delicate  intuitions;  the  skill  to  listen  as  well 
as  the  art  to  speak;  imagination  to  grasp  the  ideal  of 
a  character  in  all  its  conditions  of  experience;  the 
instinct  of  the  sculptor  to  give  it  form,  of  the  painter  to 
give  it  color,  and  of  the  poet  to  give  it  movement;  and, 
back  of  all,  the  temperament  of  genius, — the  genialized 
nervous  system, — to  impart  to  the  whole  artistic  struct- 


MARY    ANDERSON  11 

ure  the  thrill  of  spiritual  vitality.  Mary  Anderson's 
acting  revealed  those  faculties  and  attributes,  and  those 
observers  who  realized  the  poetic  spirit,  the  moral 
majesty,  and  the  isolation  of  mind  that  she  continually 
suggested  felt  that  she  was  an  extraordinary  woman. 
Such  moments  in  her  acting  as  that  of  Galatea  s  mute 
supplication,  at  the  last  of  earthly  life,  that  of  Juliet's 
desolation,  after  the  final  midnight  parting  with  the 
last  human  creature  whom  she  may  ever  behold,  and 
that  of  Hermione's  despair,  when  she  covers  her  face 
and  falls  as  if  stricken  dead,  were  the  eloquent  denote- 
ments of  power,  and  in  those  moments  and  such  as  those, 
— with  which  her  art  abounded, — was  the  fulfilment  of 
every  hope  that  her  acting  inspired  and  the  vindication 
of  every  encomium  that  it  received. 

Early  in  her  professional  career,  when  considering 
her  acting,  I  quoted,  as  applicable  to  her,  those  lovely 
lines  by  Wordsworth: — 

"The  stars  of  midnight  shall  be  dear 
To  her,  and  she  shall  lean  her  ear 

In  many  a  secret  place 
Where  rivulets  dance  their  wayward  round, 
And  beauty  born  of  murmuring  sound 
Shall  pass  into  her  face." 

In  the  direction  of  development  thus  indicated  she 
steadily  advanced.  Her  affiliations  were  with  grandeur, 
purity,    and    loveliness.      An    inherent    and    passionate 


12  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

tendency  toward  classic  stateliness  increased  in  her, 
more  and  more.  Characters  of  the  statuesque  order 
attracted  her  imagination, — Ion,  Galatea,  Ilennione, — 
but  she  did  not  leave  them  soulless.  In  the  interpreta- 
tion of  passion  and  the  presentation  of  its  results  she 
revealed  the  striking  truth  that  her  perceptions  could 
discern  those  consequences  that  are  recorded  in  the  soul 
and  in  comparison  with  which  the  dramatic  entangle- 
ments of  visible  life  are  puny  and  evanescent.  Though 
living  in  the  rapid  stream  of  the  social  world  she  dwelt 
aloof  from  it.  She  thought  deeply,  and  in  mental 
direction  she  took  the  pathway  of  intellectual  power. 
It  is  not  surprising  that  the  true  worth  of  such  a  nature 
was  not  always  accurately  apprehended.  Minds  that 
are  self-poised,  stately,  irresponsive  to  human  weakness, 
unconventional,  and  self-liberated  from  allegiance  to 
the  commonplace  are  not  fully  and  instantly  discernible, 
and  may  well  perplex  the  smiling  glance  of  frivolity; 
but  they  are  permanent  forces  in  the  education  of  the 
human  race.  Mary  Anderson  retired  from  the  Stage, 
under  the  pressure  of  extreme  fatigue,  in  the  beginning 
of  1889,  and  on  June  17,  1890,  in  the  Roman  Catholic 
Chapel  of  St.  Mary's,  Hampstead,  London,  she  was 
married  to  Antonio  de  Navarro, — one  of  the  kindest, 
gentlest,  and  best  of  men.  Their  home  is  in  Broadway, 
Worcestershire,  England,  not  far  from  Stratford-upon- 
Avon,  and  there,  in  the  sweet  tranquillity  of  domestic 
life,  she  has  found  a  haven  of  rest  such  as  seldom  is 


MARY    ANDERSON  13 

reached  by  the  perturbed  spirits  of  the  Stage.  Since 
her  marriage  she  has  not  appeared  in  public  profes- 
sional^7, except  to  give  an  occasional  entertainment  for 
the  benefit  of  the  poor. 

"ROMEO     AND    JULIET." 

Shakespeare  expends  his  intellectual  force  somewhat 
more  lavishly  upon  the  study  and  analysis  of  Man  than 
upon  the  study  and  analysis  of  Woman.  Hamlet,  Lear, 
Macbeth,  Othello,  lago,  Brutus,  Cassius,  Coriolanus, 
Shylock,  Falstaff, — each  is  an  elaborate,  comprehensive, 
profound,  completed  study.  There  is  scarcely  one  of 
Shakespeare's  women  who,  in  close  comparison  with 
any  of  those  men,  seems  much  more  than  a  sketch. 
Imogen,  Cleopatra,  Portia,  Desdenwna,  and  Rosalind 
are,  perhaps,  the  most  specifically  depicted  of  his  hero- 
ines. Juliet,  drawn  with  a  few  bold  touches  and  placed 
in  a  few  representative  situations,  seems  rather  to  be 
outlined  than  minutely  portrayed.  In  that  beautiful, 
lamentable  image  of  passionate  devotion  and  still  more 
passionate  sorrow  the  poet's  object  seems  to  have  been 
to  declare  what  a  true  woman's  heart  feels  and  suffers 
when  it  loves  and  loses  its  love.  Such  an  utterance, 
he  must  have  felt,  would  be  an  essential  part  of  his 
authentic  message  to  the  human  race.  He  gave  it,  how- 
ever, before  he  had  attained  to  a  complete  mastery  of 
himself  and  his  artistic  implements  and  before  his  con- 
quest of  the  entire  domain  of  human  thought  and  feel- 


14  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

ing  had  been  accomplished.     He  was  only  twenty-seven 
when   he  first   touched   that   subject,   and,   although   he 
returned  to  it  in  later  years,  his  work  was  not  wholly 
relieved  of  a  florid   strain,  an  artificial  use  of  rhymed 
lines,  and  a  somewhat  sketch-like  treatment  of  character, 
— which   are   indications   of    immaturity.      "Romeo   and 
Juliet"  is  a  powerful,  eloquent  exposition  of  passion  and 
misery,   but,   somewhat  unlike  the   greater   tragedies  of 
Shakespeare's   maturity,   it   does   not  entirely   and   pro- 
foundly   display    the    character    through    the    emotion. 
When  he  came  to  depict  Lady  Macbeth  and  Cleopatra 
he  could  show  human  passions  inextricably  blended  with 
the  diversified  attributes  of  definite  human  personality. 
He    did    not    do    that    with    Juliet.      If    that    afflicted 
woman  is  separated  from  her  passion  and  her  misery, 
she  fades  almost  into  the  realm  of  conjecture.     When 
first  presented  she  is  beautiful,  sweet,  innocent,  artless, 
obedient;   her   heart   has   not   been   awakened,   and   her 
mind  and  will,  contented  in  the  physical  joy  of  bloom- 
ing, youthful  life,  are  pleased  and  passive.     Throughout 
her  first  scene,  which  is  not  a  short  one,  she  speaks  only 
about  fifty  words.     It  is  not  till  her  eyes  have  looked 
into  the  eyes  of  Ro?neo  and  her  heart  has  Jeaped  to  his 
that  she  becomes  a  woman  and  begins  to  reveal  in  her 
words    and    conduct    the    attributes    of    her    individual 
nature.      Yet    even    then    there    remains    need    for    the 
actress    of   Juliet   to   reinforce    the    character   with   her 
personality. 


MAI1Y    ANDERSON  15 

Mary  Anderson  fulfilled  that  opportune  condition. 
By  the  affluence  of  her  nature,  by  the  extraordinary 
correspondence  existing  between  herself  and  the  Shake- 
spearean ideal,  and  by  beautiful  art, — through  which 
her  impetuous  feeling  was  guided  by  firm  purpose  and 
made  the  more  affecting  by  repose, — she  imparted  to 
Juliet  an  individual  life  of  delightful  character  as  well 
as  a  tempest  of  emotion  and  the  desolate  grandeur  of 
a  tragic  death.  Her  performance  was  right  in  stage 
convention,  magnetic  and  noble  in  loveliness  of  spirit, 
touched  with  the  glamour  of  woful  passion,  and  fraught 
with  tremendous  energy  of  purpose.  In  the  scenes 
with  Romeo  she  made  Juliet  tender  and  simple.  The 
love  that  she  denoted  was  not  the  animal  love  which 
devours  and  destroys, — that  sensual  frenzy  which  so 
much  of  contemporary  criticism  has  declared  to  be 
the  only  genuine  emotion, — but  the  love  that  hallows, 
cherishes,  and  would  sacrifice  life  itself  to  promote  the 
happiness  of  its  object.  Her  desolation  in  that  supreme 
moment  when,  after  the  last  parting  with  the  Nurse,  the 
poor,  doomed  girl  enters  into  her  bleak  and  tragic  soli- 
tude was  instinct  with  pathos.  Her  frenzy  in  the 
climax  of  the  Potion  Scene  and  her  recklessness  of  pas- 
sionate misery  in  the  suicide  were  thrilling  and  piteous. 
The  first  entrance  of  Juliet,  putting  aside  the  curtain 
and  standing  in  a  stairway  arch,  was  the  natural  dis- 
closure of  the  simple  maid,  amid  her  accustomed  domes- 
tic surroundings.    That  felicity  of  grace  in  the  treatment 


1G  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

of  external  matters, — form,  ceremony,  convention,  the 
atmosphere  of  ordinary  life, — pervaded  the  embodiment, 
and  no  detail  was  left  to  chance.  The  stricken  figure 
of  the  beautiful  girl,  who  has  already  had  her  death-blow 
at  the  hand  of  love,  standing  there,  in  the  darkening 
hall,  when  the  revel  had  ended  and  the  guests  were 
gone,  was  seen  to  be  a  perfect  denotement  of  dramatic 
art.  On  the  balcony  she  had  the  absorbed  manner  of 
reverie,  and  her  ardor  was  sweetly  touched  and  subdued 
by  the  vagnie  apprehension  no  less  than  the  maiden 
purity  that  is  at  her  heart.  "I  have  no  joy  in  this  con- 
tract to-night."  In  the  teasing  scene  with  the  Nurse 
her  stage  business  was  devised  to  create  and  sustain  the 
effect  of  childlike  petulance,  wilfulness,  caprice,  and 
charm.  The  cloud  had  lifted  and  the  vague  omen  was 
then  for  a  moment  forgotten.  Juliet's  "banished"  scene 
was  omitted  by  Miss  Anderson,  as  it  had  been  by  Miss 
Neilson, — and  wisely,  because  it  conflicts  with  Romeo's 
kindred  scene,  and  it  anticipates  a  dramatic  effect  which 
should  not  arrive  so  soon.  Her  parting  with  Romeo 
had  the  sad  reality  of  grief,  and  it  was  managed  so  as  to 
deepen  an  almost  insufferable  sense  of  bereavement. 
Her  calm  despair, — obviously  the  extreme  tension  of 
suffering  and  the  dead  stillness  of  excitement, — when 
the  Nurse  had  gone  and  when  the  time  had  come  for 
taking  the  dread  alternative  of  a  simulated  death  was 
so  actual  that  it  seemed  to  strike  a  blow  upon  the  heart. 
In   the   final   crisis, — the   awakening   in   the   tomb,    the 


MARY    ANDERSON  17 

perception  of  defeat  and  ruin,  and  the  fatal  act  which 
now  alone  can  repair  what  fate  has  ravaged, — she  rose 
into  tragic  grandeur,  causing  theatrical  accessories  to 
be  forgotten  and  leaving  the  solemn  conviction  that 
there  are  times  when  only  death  can  be  deemed  triumph 
and  it  is  better  to  die  than  to  live. 

For  the  continuity  of  the  achievement  studious  art 
and  continual  practice  might  account,  but  for  its  vitality 
of  identification  and  its  afflicting  significance  the  motive 
was  deeper  than  the  impulse  of  art.  It  was  not  only 
the  imagination  that  spoke  through  that  remarkable 
performance;  it  was  the  heart.  Miss  Anderson  found 
Juliet  a  somewhat  shadowy  ideal  of  love  and  grief.  She 
left  her  a  distinct,  superb  woman,  animated,  from  the 
moment  when  she  becomes  aware  of  herself,  by  noble 
principle  and  heroic  fidelity  not  less  than  by  passionate 
love.  Only  the  subtlest  intuition  could  have  accom- 
plished that  result,  at  once  bringing  the  character 
into  brilliant  relief,  and  writing,  as  in  lines  of  white 
fire  upon  a  midnight  sky,  that  hopeless  word  which  is 
the  final  result  and  comprehensive  lesson  of  the  tragic 
plays  of  Shakespeare, — misery.  For  that  is  where  his 
thought  ended.  That  poet  reflected  the  evanescent, 
mournful  pageant  of  human  life  as  he  saw  it,  and  he 
suggested  no  relief  to  the  picture.  He  may  not  have 
put  forth  all  his  power  in  "Romeo  and  Juliet,"  but  in 
as  far  as  he  did  exert  that  power  he  exerted  it  in  the 
direction  of  the  truth.     Misery,   not  happiness,   is  the 


18  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

predominant  theme  of  that  play,  as  it  afterward  was 
of  "Hamlet"  and  kindred  works.  This  world  is  not 
a  rose  garden,  and  happiness  is  not  the  earthly  destiny 
of  man.  The  great  men  and  women  in  Shakespeare 
are  those  that  the  common  mind  would  invariably 
regard  as  failures.  Hamlet,  Lear,  Othello,  Corio- 
lanus,  Timon, — they  all  drift  into  ruin.  Romeo  fails, 
— not  only  because  fate  is  against  him  but  because 
of  a  perverse,  melancholy,  ingrained,  enervating  dejec- 
tion which  taints  his  spirit  and  would  inevitably  defeat 
his  life.  Juliet,  thrilled  and  absorbed  by  passionate 
idolatry  of  another  human  being,  overwhelmed  with 
emotion  that  recks  no  reason  and  brooks  no  restraint, 
is  the  personification  of  heedless  love,  and  therefore 
is  fatal  to  herself.  The  glittering  Mercutio,  the  choleric, 
gallant  Tybalt,  the  gentle  Paris,  the  gay,  amiable 
Benvolio,  all  perish  in  their  youthful  prime.  Romeo's 
mother  dies  of  a  broken  heart.  All  through  the  woof 
of  life  runs  a  thread  of  perversion  and  calamity:  but 
at  the  basis  of  Juliet's  personality  and  experience, 
equally  with  those  of  Romeo,  there  is  a  deeper  and 
darker  truth, — a  preordination  of  evil  which  is  to  spring 
from  the  sovereign  emotion  of  humanity..  All  great 
passion  isolates  the  heart  by  which  it  is  possessed. 
Certain  natures  are  born  to  sorrow,  and  the  impending 
calamity  of  a  malignant  fate  darkens  with  sombre 
presentiment  even  their  dawn  of  life,  and  sequesters 
them,    in    a    mournful    strangeness,    from    their    fellow- 


MARY    ANDERSON  19 

creatures  of  the  earth.  The  keynote  is  sounded  by 
Juliet  the  moment  her  heart  awakens:  "Too  early 
seen  unknown,  and  known  too  late."  The  same  present- 
iment has  already  settled  upon  the  soul  of  Romeo: 
"My  mind  misgives  some  consequence  yet  hanging  in 
the  stars."  Miss  Anderson  grasped  the  subject  in  that 
spirit  and  developed  Juliet  under  an  inexorable  light 
of   truth. 

"AS    YOU    LIKE     IT." 

A  production  of  "As  You  Like  It"  should  liberate 
the  spectator  from  that  tyranny  of  the  commonplace 
which  is  the  usual  condition  of  human  existence  and 
lure  him  into  a  land  of  dreams  and  fancies  "far  from 
the  madding  crowd's  ignoble  strife."  But  that  play 
is  so  saturated  with  the  evanescent  quality  of  poetry 
that  a  presentation  entirely  accordant  with  its  spirit 
is,  perhaps,  impracticable.  The  work  seems  simple, 
and  it  ought  to  be  easy  to  define  and  convey  its  charm; 
yet  something  subtle  at  the  heart  of  it  eludes  the 
analytic  touch.  While,  however,  the  nature  of  its 
power  remains  mysterious,  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  the 
nature  of  its  influence.  It  transfigures  common  life, 
and  it  swathes  every  object  and  thought  in  a  golden 
haze  of  romance.  Drifted  on  its  current,  the  imagina- 
tion floats  away,  like  the  wild  flower  on  the  autumn 
brook,  in  aimless,  indolent  happiness.  It  is  essentially 
a  play  to  be  enjoyed,  and  the  right  acting  of  it  requires 
that  the  players,  having  tested  and  justified  their  plan, 


20  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

with  not  too  rigid  respect  for  the  actual,  should  give 
free  way  to  their  poetic  feeling,  and  as  far  as  possible 
invest  the  piece  with  its  pastoral  glamour.  Things 
do  not  occur  in  actual  life  as  they  occur  in  that  comedy. 
Rosalind's  airy  exploit  must  not  be  tried  by  the  test 
of  probability.  We  are  in  Arden, — not  French,  but 
English;  around  us  are  the  great  elms,  verdurous  mea- 
dows, tangled  wild  flowers,  and  fragrant  summer  airs 
of  beautiful  Warwickshire.  The  piece  is  full  of  char- 
acter, truth,  wisdom,  and  deep  and  sweet  feeling,  but  its 
substance  is  treated  with  the  caprice  of  a  poet's  fancy. 
As  we  ramble  through  those  woodland  dells  we  hear  the 
mingled  voices  of  philosophy,  folly,  and  humor,  the  fly- 
ing echo  of  the  hunter's  horn,  the  soft  music  of  the 
lover's  lute,  and  the  tinkle  of  the  shepherd's  bell.  The 
sun  shines  always  in  the  Forest  of  Arden;  the  brooks 
sing  as  they  glide,  and  the  soft,  happy  laughter  of  a 
sweet  woman  floats  gayly  on  the  scented  wind. 

It  is  no  wonder  that  a  performance  of  "As  You 
Like  It,"  however  imperfect,  imparts  a  momentary 
freedom  and  joy, — the  forgetf illness  of  common  life,  the 
blissful  realization  of  an  ideal  world.  Mary  Anderson 
reproduced  Rosalind  with  all  the  physical  beauty  that 
the  part  implies  and  with  its  soul  of  tender  woman- 
hood, its  rich  vitality  of  changing  emotion,  its  strength 
of  mind,  its  starlight  of  sentiment,  its  glancing  raillery, 
and  its  exuberant  mirth.  Old  play-goers  can  recall 
Rosalinds  of  the  Dora  Jordan  order,  who  invested  the 


MARY    ANDERSON  21 

character  with  a  semi-dissolute  air  of  reckless  revelry; 
experienced  persons  who  knew  more  of  the  world  than 
it  is  healthful  to  know;  elderly  experts,  proficient  in 
theatrical  mechanism.  There  have,  likewise,  been  noble 
and  winning  embodiments  of  Rosalind,  which  are  not 
to  be  forgotten  or  discredited.  Louisa  Nisbett  was 
accounted  delicious  in  it.  Helena  Faucit  is  said  to  have 
acted  it  with  nobility,  sweetness,  and  spiritual  exaltation. 
Adelaide  Neilson  was  charming  in  it, — divesting  it  of 
serious  attributes  and  turning  it  to  frolic.  But  Miss 
Anderson,  superbly  handsome  as  Rosalind,  indicated 
that  beneath  her  pretty  swagger,  nimble  satire,  and 
silver  playfulness  Rosalind  is  as  earnest  as  Juliet, — 
though  different  in  temperament  and  mind, — as  fond 
as   Viola  and  as  constant  as  Imogen. 

Because  the  comedy  is  poetic  there  has  been  a  ten- 
dency in  critical  comment  to  over-freight  it  with  mean- 
ing, and  especially  to  surcharge  the  elusive  character  of 
Rosalind  with  vagueness  and  subtleties.  Yet  poetry  is 
the  exact  reverse  of  complexity,  and  there  can  be  but 
one  true  ideal  of  the  character, — instantly  visible  when 
Shakespeare's  text  is  subjected  to  the  highest  and  there- 
fore the  most  obvious  interpretation  it  will  bear.  Miss 
Anderson,  with  a  straightforward  judgment  always 
characteristic  of  her  mind,  turned  away  from  subtleties 
of  construction  and  took  the  direct  path.  Shakespeare's 
method  in  delineating  women  is  almost  invariably  to 
cause  expression  of  character  under  the  influence  of  love. 


22  THE  WALLET  OF  TIME 

"Man's  love,"  said  Byron,  "is  of  man's  life  a  thing 
apart — 'tis  woman's  whole  existence."  Shakespeare  had 
entertained  a  kindred  thought.  His  men  who  actually 
love, — not  like  King  Henry  the  Fifth  or  Benedick  but 
like  Romeo  and  Othello, — are  men  who  have  something 
of  the  woman  in  them,  while  most  of  his  comedy  women 
would  be  nothing  if  they  were  not  lovers.  Each  of  them 
loves,  and  each  of  them  shows  a  different  nature  under 
the  stress  of  the  sovereign  passion.  Viola,  hopeless  and 
patient,  will  let  concealment  prey  upon  her  life.  Helena, 
made  of  stronger  fibre,  will  palter  with  unchastity  to  win 
her  happiness  in  love's  fulfilment.  Juliet  will  have  love 
or  death,  and  she  is  never  so  happy  or  so  great  as 
when  she  plunges  the  dagger  into  her  heart.  Imogen 
will  bare  her  fond  bosom  to  every  storm  of  hardship 
and  cruelty,  exultant  in  simple  fidelity  and  adoration. 
Rosalind  also  loves,  and  she  would  be  true;  but  she 
would  do  no  desperate  deed,  and  she  would  come  at  last 
to  live  in  the  mind  more  than  in  the  heart:  her  resources 
of  character  are  not  less  strong  than  brilliant:  but 
Rosalind  was  born  for  victory,  and  when  she  wishes 
to  conquer  Love  she  will  be  so  enchanting  that  all  the 
perfumed  airs  around  her  beauteous  head  will  stir  and 
whisper  with  the  rustle  of  his  coming  wings.  To  act 
Rosalind  rightly  is  to  assume  that  condition  in  Shake- 
speare's play. 

Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  signing  his  superb  portrait  of 
Sarah  Siddons  as  the  Tragic  Muse,  wrote  his  name  on  the 


MARY    ANDERSON  23 

hem  of  her  garment.  It  is  often  in  the  light  and 
delicate  touches  that  an  actor  discloses  the  keen  faculty 
of  perception,  the  gentle  and  right  feeling,  and  the 
unerring  instinct  of  taste  which  are  such  admirable  and 
charming  attributes.  Miss  Anderson  lavished  on  her 
performance  of  Rosalind  sl  scrupulous  care  as  to  detail 
and  finish,  and  especially  she  expressed  the  noble  pride 
and  the  shrinking,  sensitive  modesty  of  a  true  woman 
who  truly  loves.  "My  pride  fell  with  my  fortunes" 
is  not  a  truth  about  Rosalind,  it  is  only  an  excuse. 
She  is  as  proud  as  she  is  tender,  and  the  love  with 
which  she  honors  and  hallows  Orlando,  though  ardent 
and  generous,  is  dominated  by  a  strong  character,  active 
morality,  and  fine  intellect.  In  Miss  Anderson's  imper- 
sonation the  quality  of  the  character,  like  the  fragrance 
of  the  rose,  surrounded  it  and  explained  it.  Her  Rosa- 
lind had  not  put  on  male  attire  as  one  of  Moliere's 
heroines  might  have  done,  for  an  intrigue  or  a  frolic, 
but  as  a  disguise  beneath  which  she  might  protect  her 
changed  and  menaced  state,  and,  perhaps,  retrieve  her 
fallen  fortune;  and  once  being  in  disguise  she  would 
make  use  of  her  opportunity  to  test  the  depth  and  sin- 
cerity of  the  love  in  which  her  great,  pure,  tender  heart 
both  trembles  and  exults.  Miss  Anderson  struck  the 
keynote  of  her  impersonation  and  disclosed  a  subtle 
perception  of  transparency  in  acting, — the  device  that 
lets  the  deep  feeling  of  the  heart  glimmer  through  the 
veil  of  an  assumed  mood, — when  in  saying  to  Orlando 


24  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

"Sir,  you  have  wrestled  well,  and  overthrown  more 
than  your  enemies'1  she  made  the  last  words  a  speech 
"aside."  The  sweet  woman  nature  thus  denoted  is  at 
the  heart  of  Shakespeare's  ideal.  Miss  Anderson's 
Rosalind  was  neither  a  rake  nor  a  hoyden  nor  was  it 
suggestive  of  an  insipid  prude;  it  was  a  noble,  brilliant, 
pure,  lovely  woman,  glorious  in  the  affluent  vitality  of 
her  beautiful  youth  and  enchanting  in  the  healthful, 
sparkling  freedom  of  a  bright  mind  and  a  happy 
heart. 

The  vague  stirring  of  love  in  the  heart  of  Rosalind, 
which  she  does  not  understand;  the  unrestful  mood,  the 
sadness  which  is  due  to  her  regretful  perception  of  her 
unfortunate  circumstances,  the  show  of  mirth  which 
would  be  natural  under  happy  conditions,  but  which 
now  is  a  little  forced;  the  abundant,  healthful  vitality, 
the  finely  poised  mind,  the  tenderness,  the  sweetly  grave 
temperament,  the  royal  superiority,  which  yet  is  touched 
with  a  submissive  meekness, — those  attributes  were 
crystallized  into  a  lovely  image  of  blooming  womanhood. 
The  Princess  has  been  but  slightly  mentioned  before 
she  enters;  in  the  acting  version  she  commonly  is  not 
mentioned  at  all.  Her  coming,  therefore,  is  a  little 
abrupt.  Miss  Anderson  did  not  fail  to  evince  her 
consciousness  that  every  character  has  its  background 
of  previous  life.  Her  entrance  as  Rosalind  was  in 
the  continuance  of  a  condition,  not  the  beginning 
of  it.     The  change  from  pensive  preoccupation  to  arch 


MARY    ANDERSON  25 

levity  told  at  once  its  story  of  sorrow  sweetly  veiled  and 
of  a  deep  nature  beneath  the  smile.  The  troubled 
wonder  in  the  backward  look  at  Orlando  was  eloquent 
equally  of  purity  and  latent  passion.  Nothing  could 
be  more  expressive  of  Rosalind's  ardor  and  delicacy 
than  Miss  Anderson's  graceful  action  with  the  chain. 
The  fine  burst  of  filial  resentment,  suddenly  curbed  by 
the  solicitude  of  friendship,  when  Rosalind  defends  her 
banished  father,  had  its  legitimate  effect  of  power.  In 
the  boy's  dress  it  was  shown  that  a  royal  nature  never 
ceases  to  be  royal.  Through  the  forest  scenes  with 
Orlando  Miss  Anderson  made  Rosalind  repress  beneath 
frolic  and  banter  the  passion  that  longs  to  speak.  The 
furtive  caress  was  indicative  of  the  spirit.  In  the 
reproof  of  Phoebe  the  almost  jocular  mirth  was  equally 
natural.  The  pathos  in  the  Swoon  Scene  sprang  out 
of  the  under-tide  of  earnestness  that  had  preceded  it. 
The  final  entrance  of  the  Princess,  in  her  bridal  gar- 
ments of  spotless  white,  presented  an  image  of  dazzling 
loveliness.  Miss  Anderson  closed  the  piece  with  a  dance. 
The  foes  were  reconciled;  the  lovers  were  mated;  and 
while  the  woods  were  ringing  with  music  and  every 
face  was  shining  with  happiness,  the  curtain  fell  on  a 
scene  of  sylvan  beauty  and  "true  delights." 

The  quality  that  most  commended  the  actress  to 
sympathy  and  admiration  was  her  spiritual  freedom. 
Care  had  not  laid  its  leaden  hand  upon  her  heart.  Grief 
had  not  stained  the  whiteness  of  her  spirit.    The  galling 


26  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

fetters  of  convention  had  not  crippled  her  life.  Accu- 
mulated burdens  of  error  and  folly  had  not  deadened 
her  enthusiasm  and  embittered  her  mind.  Disappoint- 
ment had  not  withered  for  her  the  bloom  of  ambition 
or  blighted  the  smile  on  the  face  of  hope.  Time,  with 
its  insidious  and  saddening  touch,  had  not  for  her 
curbed  the  starry  visions  of  purpose  or  the  joyous 
tumult  of  action.  Satiety  and  monotony  had  not  made 
a  desert  round  her  path.  For  her  the  birds  of  morn- 
ing were  singing  in  the  summer  woods,  while  her  foot- 
steps fell  not  on  the  faded  leaves  of  loss  and  sorrow, 
but  on  the  blown  roses  of  youth  and  joy.  Strong  in 
noble  and  serene  womanhood,  untouched  by  either  the 
evil  or  the  dulness  of  contiguous  lives,  not  secure  through 
penury  of  feeling  yet  not  imperilled  through  reckless 
drift  of  emotion,  rich  equally  in  mental  gifts  and  phys- 
ical equipments,  she  seemed  the  living  fulfilment  of  the 
old  poetic  ideal  of  gypsy  freedom  and  classic  grace  that 
Byron  saw  in  his  "Egeria"  and  Wordsworth  in  his 
"Phantom  of  Delight."  Once,  at  the  outset,  comes 
to  every  human  soul  the  opportunity  of  its  choice. 
Every  emanation  of  Miss  Anderson's  art  was  eloquent 
of  innate  superiority.  Whatever  its  pathway  might 
be,  such  a  nature  would  keep  imperial  dominance 
equally  of  its  circumstances  and  itself.  The  success 
of  the  actress  was  not  the  accident  of  beauty  or  caprice. 
Her  art  was  noble,  but  her  mind  was  more  noble  than 
her  art,  and  the  presence  of  such  a  woman  must  have 


MARY    ANDERSON  27 

touched,  in  many  a  heart,  the  chord  of  sorrow  which 
vibrates  back  to  that  error — the  surrender  of  innocence 
to  sin — which  lost  the  world.  Each  of  her  performances 
gave  its  special  revelation  and  imparted  its  peculiar 
charm;  but,  higher  and  better  than  her  works,  because 
a  monition  to  the  soul  and  not  merely  a  delight  to  the 
sense,  was  the'  woman  behind  the  actress, — showing 
ever  what  loveliness  is  possible  in  human  life  and  what 
nobleness  can  yet  remain  among  the  wastes  of  experi- 
ence and  the  wrecks  of  time. 

"THE     WINTER'S    TALE." 

There  is  so  much  beauty  in  the  comedy  of  'The  Win- 
ter's Tale," — so  much  thought,  character,  humor,  phi- 
losophy, sweetly  serene  feeling  and  loveliness  of  poetic 
language, — that  the  public  ought  to  feel  obliged  to  any 
one  who  successfully  restores  it  to  the  Stage,  from  which 
it  usually  is  banished.  The  piece  was  written  in  the 
maturity  of  Shakespeare's  marvellous  powers,  and 
indeed  some  good  Shakespearean  scholars  believe  it 
to  be  the  last  work  that  fell  from  his  hand.  Human 
life  as  depicted  in  "The  Winter's  Tale"  shows  itself  like 
what  it  always  seems  to  be,  in  the  eyes  of  patient, 
tolerant,  magnanimous  experience, — the  eyes  "that  have 
kept  watch  o'er  man's  mortality," — for  it  is  a  scene  of 
inexplicable  contrasts  and  vicissitudes,  seemingly  a  chaos 
of  caprice  and  chance,  yet  always,  in  fact,  beneficently 
overruled    and   guided   to   good    ends.      Human    beings 


28  THE  WALLET  OF  TIME 

are  shown  in  it  as  full  of  weakness;  often  as  the  pup- 
pets of  laws  that  they  do  not  understand  and  of  uni- 
versal propensities  and  impulses  into  which  they  never 
pause  to  inquire;  almost  always  as  objects  of  benig- 
nant pity.  The  woful  tangle  of  human  existence  is 
here  viewed  with  half-cheerful,  half-sad  tolerance,  yet 
with  the  hope  and  belief  that  all  will  come  right  at  last. 
The  mood  of  the  comedy  is  pensive  but  radically  sweet. 
Mary  Anderson  doubled  the  characters  of  Hermione 
and  Perdita.  This  had  not  been  conspicuously  done 
until  it  was  done  by  her,  and  her  innovation  in  that 
respect  was  met  with  disapproval.  The  moment  the 
subject  is  examined,  however,  objection  to  that  method 
of  procedure  is  dispelled.  Hermione,  as  a  dramatic 
person,  disappears  in  the  middle  of  the  Third  Act  of 
the  comedy  and  comes  no  more  until  the  end,  when 
she  emerges  as  a  statue.  Her  character  has  been  entirely 
expressed  and  her  part  in  the  action  of  the  drama  has 
been  substantially  fulfilled  before  she  disappears.  There 
is  no  intermediate  passion  to  be  wrought  to  a  climax, 
nor  is  there  any  intermediate  mood,  dramatically  speak- 
ing, to  be  sustained.  The  dramatic  necessities  are 
vastly  unlike,  for  example,  those  of  Lady  Macbeth, — 
one  of  the  hardest  of  all  parts  to  play  well,  because 
exhibited  intermittently,  at  intervals,  yet  steadily  con- 
strained by  the  necessity  of  cumulative  excitement. 
The  representative  of  Lady  Macbeth  must  be  identified 
with  that  character,  whether  on  the  stage  or  off,  from 


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MARY    ANDERSON  29 

the  beginning  of  it  to  the  end.  Hermione,  on  the  con- 
trary, is  at  rest  from  the  moment  when  she  faints,  on 
receiving  information  of  the  death  of  her  boy.  A  lapse 
of  sixteen  years  is  assumed,  and  then,  revealed  as  a 
statue,  she  personifies  majestic  virtue  and  victorious 
fortitude.  When  she  descends  from  the  pedestal  she 
silently  embraces  Leontes,  speaks  a  few  pious,  mater- 
nal and  tranquil  lines  (there  are  precisely  seven  of 
them  in  the  original,  but  Mary  Anderson  added  two, 
selected  from  "All's  Well"),  and  embraces  Pcrdita, 
whom  she  has  not  seen  since  the  girl's  earliest  infancy. 
This  is  their  only  meeting,  and  little  is  sacrificed  by  the 
use  of  a  substitute  for  the  daughter  in  that  scene. 
Perditas  brief  apostrophe  to  the  statue  must  be  omitted, 
but  it  is  not  missed  in  the  representation.  The  resem- 
blance between  mother  and  daughter  heightens  the 
effect  of  illusion,  in  its  impress  equally  upon  fancy  and 
vision.  It  was  a  judicious  and  felicitous  choice  that 
the  actress  made  when  she  selected  those  two  characters, 
and  the  fact  that  her  impersonation  of  them  carried  a 
practically  disused  Shakespearean  comedy  through  a 
season  of  166  consecutive  nights  at  the  Lyceum  The- 
atre in  London  furnished  an  indorsement  alike  of 
her  wisdom  and  her  ability.  She  played  in  a  stage 
version  of  the  piece,  in  five  acts,  containing  thirteen 
scenes,  arranged  by  herself. 

While   Mary  Anderson   was   acting   those   two   parts 
in  London  the  sum  of  critical  opinion  seemed  to  be  that 


30  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

her  performance  of  Perdita  was  better  than  her  per- 
formance of  Hermione;  but  beneath  that  judgment 
there  was,  apparently,  the  impression  that  Hermione 
is  a  character  fraught  with  superlatively  great  passions, 
powers,  and  qualities,  such  as  can  be  apprehended  only 
by  colossal  sagacity  and  conveyed  by  herculean  talents 
and  skill.  Those  vast  attributes  were  not  specified,  but 
there  was  a  mysterious  intimation  of  their  existence, — 
as  of  something  vague,  formidable,  and  mostly  elusive. 
But  in  truth  Hermione,  although  a  stronger  part  than 
Perdita,  is  neither  complex,  dubious,  nor  inaccessible; 
and  Mary  Anderson,  although  more  fascinating  in 
Perdita,  could  and  did  rise,  in  Hermione,  to  a  noble 
height  of  tragic  power, — an  excellence  not  possible,  either 
for  her  or  for  anybody,  in  the  more  juvenile  and  slender 
character. 

Hermione  has  usually  been  represented  as  an  elderly 
woman  and  by  such  an  actress  as  is  technically  called 
"heavy."  She  ought  to  be  represented  as  about  thirty 
years  of  age  at  the  beginning  of  the  piece  and  forty- 
six  at  the  end  of  it.  Leontes  is  not  more  than  thirty- 
four  at  the  opening,  and  he  would  be  fifty  at  the  close. 
He  speaks,  in  his  first  scene,  of  his  boyhood  as  only 
twenty-three  years  gone,  when  his  dagger  was  worn 
"muzzled,  lest  it  should  bite  its  master," — at  which  time 
he  may  have  been  ten  years  old;  certainly  not  more, 
probably  less.  His  words,  toward  the  end  of  Act  Third, 
"so  sure   as   this  beard's  gray,"   refer  to   the   beard   of 


MARY    ANDERSON  31 

Antigonus,  not  to  his  own.  He  is  a  young  man  when 
the  play  begins,  and  Polixenes  is  about  the  same  age, 
and  Hermione  is  a  young  woman.  Antigonus  and 
Paulina  are  middle-aged  persons  in  the  earlier  scenes 
and  Paulina  is  an  elderly  woman  in  the  Statue  Scene, — 
almost  an  old  woman,  though  not  too  old  to  be  given 
in  marriage  to  old  Camillo,  the  ever- faithful  friend. 
In  Mary  Anderson's  presentation  of  "The  Winter's 
Tale"  those  details  received  thoughtful  consideration  and 
correct  treatment. 

In  Hermione  is  seen  a  type  of  the  celestial  nature  in 
woman, — a  nature  combining  infinite  love,  charity,  and 
patience.  Such  a  nature  is  rare;  but  it  is  possible, 
it  exists,  and  Shakespeare,  who  depicted  everything, 
did  not  omit  to  portray  that.  To  comprehend  Her- 
mione the  observer  must  separate  her,  absolutely  and 
finally,  from  association  with  the  passions.  Mrs.  Jame- 
son acutely  and  justly  describes  her  character  as  exhibit- 
ing "dignity  without  pride,  love  without  passion,  and 
tenderness  without  weakness."  That  is  exactly  true. 
Hermione  was  not  easily  won,  and  the  best  thing 
known  about  Leontes  is  that  at  last  she  came  to  love 
him  and  that  her  love  for  him  survived  his  cruel  and 
wicked  treatment,  chastened  him,  reinstated  him,  and 
ultimately  blessed  him.  Hermione  suffers  the  utmost 
affliction  that  a  good  woman  can  suffer.  Her  boy 
dies,  heart-broken,  at  the  news  of  his  mother's  alleged 
disgrace.     Her  infant  daughter  is  torn  from  her  breast 


3'2  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

and  cast  forth  to  perish.  Her  husband  becomes  her 
enemy  and  persecutor.  Her  chastity  is  assailed  and 
vilified.  She  is  subjected  to  the  bitter  indignity  of  a 
public  trial.  It  is  no  wonder  that  at  last  her  brain 
reels  and  she  falls  as  if  stricken  dead.  The  apparent 
anomaly  is  her  survival  for  sixteen  years,  in  lonely 
seclusion,  and  her  emergence,  after  that,  as  anything 
but  a  forlorn  shadow  of  her  former  self.  The  poet 
Shelley  recorded  the  truth  that  all  great  emotions 
either  kill  themselves  or  kill  those  who  feel  them.  It 
is  here,  however,  that  the  exceptional  temperament  of 
Hermione  supplies  an  explanatory  and  needed  qualifica- 
tion. Her  emotions  are  never  of  a  passionate  kind. 
Her  mind  predominates.  Her  life  is  in  the  affections 
and  therefore  it  is  rational.  She  sees  clearly  the  facts 
of  her  experience  and  condition,  and  she  knows  exactly 
how  those  facts  appear  to  the  eyes  of  others.  She  is  one 
of  those  persons  who  possess  a  keen  and  just  prescience 
of  events,  who  can  look  far  into  the  future  and  discern 
those  resultant  consequences  of  the  present  which,  under 
the  operation  of  inexorable  moral  law,  must  inevitably 
ensue.  Self-poised  in  the  right  and  free  from  the  dis- 
turbing force  of  impulse  and  desire,  she  can  await  the 
justice  of  time,  she  can  live,  and  she  can  live  in  the 
tranquil  patience  of  resignation.  True  majesty  of  the 
person  is  dependent  on  repose  of  the  soul,  and  there  can 
be  no  repose  of  the  soul  without  moral  rectitude  and 
a    far-reaching,    comprehensive,    wise    vision    of   events. 


MARY    ANDERSON  33 

Mary  Anderson  embodied  Hermione  in  accordance  with 
that  ideal.  By  the  expression  of  her  face  and  the  tones 
of  her  voice,  in  a  single  speech,  the  actress  placed 
beyond  question  her  grasp  of  the  character: — 

"Good  my  lords, 
I  am  not  prone  to  weeping,  as  our  sex 
Commonly  are — the  want  of  which  vain  dew 
Perchance  shall  dry  your  pities — but  I  have 
That  honorable  grief  lodged  here,  which  burns 
Worse  than  tears  drown." 

The  conspicuous,  predominant,  convincing,  artistic 
beauty  in  her  impersonation  of  Hermione  was  her  real- 
ization of  the  part,  in  figure,  face,  presence,  demeanor, 
and  temperament.  She  did  not  afflict  her  auditor  with 
the  painful  sense  of  a  person  struggling  upward  toward 
an  unattainable  identity.  She  made  the  auditor  con- 
scious of  the  presence  of  a  queen.  This,  obviously, 
is  the  main  thing — that  the  individuality  shall  be 
imperial,  not  merely  wearing  royal  attire  but  being 
invested  with  the  royal  authenticity  of  divine  endow- 
ment and  consecration.  Much  emphasis  has  been  placed 
by  Shakespeare  on  that  attribute  of  innate  grandeur. 
Leontes,  at  the  opening  of  the  Trial  Scene,  describes  his 
accused  wife  as  "the  daughter  of  a  king,"  and  in  the 
same  scene  her  father  is  mentioned  as  the  Emperor  -of 
Russia.  The  gentleman  who,  in  Act  Fifth,  recounts  to 
Autolycus  the  meeting  between  Leontes  and  his  dangh- 


34  THE  WALLET  OF  TIME 

ter  Perdita  especially  notes  "the  majesty  of  the  creature, 
in  resemblance  of  the  mother."  Hermione  herself,  in 
the  course  of  her  vindication — expressed  in  one  of  the 
most  noble  and  pathetic  strains  of  poetical  eloquence  in 
our  language — names  herself  "a  great  king's  daughter," 
therein  recalling  those  august  and  piteous  words  of 
Shakespeare's    Queen   Katharine: 

"We  were  a  queen,  or  long  have  thought  so;  certain 
The  daughter  of  a  king." 

Poor  old  Antiyonus,  in  his  final  soliloquy,  recounting 
the  vision  of  Hermione  that  had  come  upon  him  in  the 
night,  declares  her  to  be  a  woman  royal  and  grand  not 
by  descent  only  but  by  nature: — 

"I  never  saw  a  vessel  of  like  sorrow, 
So  filled  and  so  becoming.    In  pure  white  robes 
Like  very  sanctity,  she  did  approach." 

That  image  Mary  Anderson  embodied,  and  therefore 
the  ideal  of  Shakespeare  was  made  a  living  thing, — that 
glorious  ideal,  in  shaping  which  the  great  poet  "from  all 
that  are  took  something  good,  to  make  a  perfect  woman." 
Toward  Polixenes,  in  the  first  scene,  her  manner  was 
wholly  gracious,  delicately  playful,  innocently  kind,  and 
purely  frank.  Her  quiet  archness  at  the  question,  "Will 
you  go  yet?"  struck  exactly  the  right  key  of  Hermione' s 
mood.     With  the  baby  prince  Mamillius  her  frolic  and 


MARY    ANDERSON  35 

banter,  affectionate,  free,  and  gay,  were  in  a  happy  vein 
of  feeling  and  humor.  Her  simple  dignity,  restraining 
both  resentment  and  grief,  in  face  of  the  injurious 
reproaches  of  Leontes,  was  entirely  noble  and  right, 
and  the  pathetic  words,  "I  never  wished  to  see  you 
sorry,  now  I  trust  I  shall,"  could  not  have  been  spoken 
with  more  depth  and  intensity  of  grieved  affection  than 
were  felt  in  her  composed  yet  tremulous  voice.  The 
entrance,  at  the  Trial  Scene,  was  made  with  the  stateli- 
ness  natural  to  a  queenly  woman,  and  yet  with  a  touch 
of  pathos — the  cold  patience  of  despair.  The  delivery 
of  Hermiones  defensive  speeches  was  profoundly 
earnest  and  touching.  The  simple  cry  of  the  mother's 
breaking  heart  and  the  action  of  veiling  her  face  and 
falling  like  one  dead,  at  the  announcement  of  the 
Prince  s  death,  were  perfect  denotements  of  the  col- 
lapse of  a  grief-stricken  woman.  The  skill  with  which 
the  actress,  in  the  Statue  Scene, — which  is  all  repose 
and  no  movement, — contrived  nevertheless  to  invest 
Hermione  with  steady  vitality  and  to  imbue  the  crisis 
with  a  feverish  air  of  suspense  was  in  a  high  degree 
significant  of  the  personality  of  genius.  For  such  a 
performance  of  Hermione  Shakespeare  himself  has  pro- 
vided the  sufficient  summary  and   encomium: — 

"Women  will  love  her,  that  she  is  a  woman 
More  worth  than  any  man;  men  that  she  is 
The  rarest  of  all  women." 


3G  THE  WALLET  OF  TIME 

It  is  one  thing  to  say  that  Mary  Anderson  was  better 
in  Pcrdita  than  in  Hermione,  and  another  thing  to  say 
that  the  performance  of  Pcrdita  was  preferred.  Every- 
body preferred  it, — even  those  who  knew  that  it  was 
not  the  better  of  the  two;  for  everybody  loves  the  sun- 
shine  more  than  the  shade.  Hermione  means  grief  and 
endurance.  Pcrdita  means  beautiful  youth  and  happy 
love.  It  does  not  take  long  for  an  observer  to  choose 
between  them.  Suffering  is  not  companionable.  By 
her  impersonation  of  Hermione  the  actress  revealed  her 
knowledge  of  the  stern  truth  of  life,  its  trials,  its 
calamities,  and  the  possible  heroism  of  character  under 
its  sorrowful  discipline.  Into  that  identity  she  passed 
by  the  force  of  her  imagination.  The  embodiment  was 
majestic,  tender,  pitiable,  transcendent,  but  its  color 
was  the  sombre  color  of  pensive  melancholy  and  sad 
experience.  That  performance  was  the  higher  and  more 
significant  of  the  two.  But  the  higher  form  of  art  is 
not  always  the  more  alluring, — never  the  more  alluring 
when  youthful  beauty  smiles  and  rosy  pleasure  beckons 
another  way.  All  hearts  respond  to  happiness.  By 
her  presentment  of  Pcrdita  the  actress  became  the  glit- 
tering image  and  incarnation  of  glorious,  youthful 
womanhood  and  fascinating  joy.  No  exercise  of  the 
imagination  was  needful  to  her  in  that.  There  was 
an  instantaneous  correspondence  between  the  part  and 
the  player.  The  embodiment  was  as  natural  as  a  sun- 
beam.    Shakespeare  has  left  no  doubt  about  his  mean- 


MARY    ANDERSON  37 

ing  in  Perdita.  The  speeches  of  all  around  her  con- 
tinually depict  her  fresh  and  piquant  loveliness,  her 
innate  superiority,  her  superlative  charm;  while  her 
behavior  and  language  as  constantly  show  forth  her 
nobility  of  soul.  One  of  the  subtlest  side-lights  thrown 
upon  the  character  is  in  the  description  of  the  manner 
in  which  Perdita  heard  the  story  of  her  mother's  death — 
when  "attentiveness  wounded"  her  "till,  from  one  sign 
of  dolor  to  another,  she  did  bleed  tears."  And  of  the 
fibre  of  her  nature  there  is  perhaps  no  finer  indication 
than  is  conveyed  in  her  comment  on  old  Camillo's 
worldly  view  of  prosperity  as  vitally  essential  to  the 
permanence  of  love: — 

"I  think  affliction  ma}*-  subdue  the  cheek, 
But  not  take  in  the  mind." 

In  the  thirty-seven  plays  of  Shakespeare  there  is  no 
strain  of  the  poetry  of  sentiment  and  grace  essentially 
sweeter  than  that  which  he  has  put  into  the  mouth  of 
Perdita,  and  poetry  could  not  be  more  sweetly  spoken 
than  it  was  by  Mary  Anderson,  in  that  delicious  scene 
of  the  distribution  of  the  flowers.  The  actress  evinced 
comprehension  of  the  character  in  every  fibre  of  its 
being,  and  she  embodied  it  with  the  affluent  vitality  of 
splendid  health  and  buoyant  temperament, — presenting 
a  creature  radiant  with  goodness  and  happiness,  exquisite 
in  natural  refinement,  piquant  with  archness,  soft,  inno- 
cent,   and    tender    in    confiding    artlessness,    and,    while 


38  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

gleeful  and  triumphant  in  beautiful  youth,  gently 
touched  with  an  intuitive  pitying  sense  of  the  thorny 
aspects  of  this  troubled  world.  The  giving  of  the  flowers 
completely  bewitched  her  auditors.  The  startled  yet 
proud  endurance  of  the  King's  anger  was  in  an  equal 
degree  captivating.  Seldom  has  the  stage  displayed 
that  rarest  of  all  combinations,  the  passionate  heart  of 
a  woman  with  the  lovely  simplicity  of  a  child.  Nothing 
could  be  more  beautiful  than  she  was  to  the  eyes  that 
followed  her  lithe  figure  through  the  merry  mazes  of 
her  rustic  dance, — an  achievement  sharply  in  contrast 
with  her  usually  statuesque  manner.  It  "makes  old 
hearts  fresh"  to  see  a  spectacle  of  grace  and  joy,  and 
that  spectacle  they  saw  then,  and  will  not  forget.  The 
value  of  those  impersonations  of  Hermione  and  Perdita, 
viewing  them  as  embodied  interpretations  of  poetry,  was 
great,  but  they  possessed  a  greater  value  and  a  higher 
significance,  as  denotements  of  the  guiding  light,  the 
cheering  strength,  the  elevating  loveliness  of  a  noble 
human  soul.  They  embodied  the  conception  of  the  poet, 
but  at  the  same  time  they  illumined  an  actual  incarna- 
tion of  the  divine  spirit.  They  were  like  windows  to  a 
sacred  temple,  and  through  them  you  could  look  into 
the  soul  of  a  true  woman, — always  a  realm  where 
thoughts  are  gliding  angels,  and  feelings  are  the  faces 
of  seraphs,  and  sounds  are  the  music  of  the  harps  of 
heaven. 


MARY    ANDERSON  39 

VARIOUS  PERFORMANCES. 

No  actress  has  appeared,  in  our  time,  as  completely 
qualified  as  Mary  Anderson  was  to  personify  Pride. 
Her  stately  beauty,  absolute  poise,  distinction,  and 
refinement  combined  to  make  her,  in  a  physical  sense, 
the  veritable  reality  of  Bulwer's  ideal  of  the  proud 
Pauline,  in  "The  Lady  of  Lyons."  She  naturally 
and  early  presented  the  perfect  image  of  aristoc- 
racy, but  Pauline,  beneath  her  reserve,  is  tender 
and  loving,  and  the  actress  as  naturally  and  easily 
expressed  the  growth  and  operation  of  Love.  Con- 
flict in  a  woman's  heart  between  those  two  forces 
is  the  exposition  accomplished  in  the  comedy,  and  while 
exigent  criticism  must  smile  at  a  wildly  romantic  plot, 
incredible  incidents,  and  occasional  versified  fustian, 
judgment  must  concede  that  the  conflict  is  one  well 
calculated  to  inspire  interest  and  win  sympathy  when 
shown  by  an  actress  who  is  at  once  beautiful,  artistically 
proficient,  and  profoundly  in  earnest.  Miss  Anderson's 
fine,  woman-like  reserve,  in  that  character, — as  also  in 
some  others, — was,  in  her  time,  censured  as  a  fault,  and 
it  still  is  occasionally  carped  at  by  an  order  of  mentality 
less  notable  for  intelligence  than  for  fat-witted  conceit 
and  chuckle-brained  dulness.  It  must  be  indeed  an 
undeveloped  or  seriously  impoverished  mind  that  can 
view  and  consider  a  dramatic  performance  merely  for 
the  purpose  of  ascertaining  whether,  by  some  contriv- 


40  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

ance  of  detraction,  it  can  be  disparaged.  Life  is  short, 
and  for  most  persons  who  feel  and  think  its  joys  are 
few  and  infrequent:  to  prowl  around  in  the  realm  of 
art  armed  with  a  microscope,  scales,  and  tape-measure 
is  to  sadden  it  beyond  endurance.  Nothing  but  spiritual 
stagnation  can  come  of  such  parsimony.  There  are, 
of  course,  times  when  the  mind  must  work  with  all  its 
masonic  implements — to  lay  the  foundations  of  judg- 
ment, broad  and  true,  in  exact  knowledge  and  immutable 
principles;  but  in  the  presence  of  artistic  works  which 
are  gracious  and  lovely  in  spirit — and  therefore  filled 
with  help  and  cheer  for  the  mind  that  is  striving  to 
poise  itself  in  serenity  and  hope  amidst  the  frets  and 
mutations  of  life — criticism  can  well  indulge  grateful 
disregard  for  superficial  flaws. 

Miss  Anderson's  expression  of  the  tranquil  ecstasy 
of  content,  during  Melnottes  wooing,  is  remembered 
as  a  significant  subtlety  of  her  impersonation  of  Pau- 
line. Her  assumption  of  sarcasm,  her  storm  of  passion, 
and  her  ultimate  splendid  abandonment,  in  the  Cottage 
Scenes,  revealed  a  variety  of  power  and  a  depth  of  pas- 
sion that  finally  refuted  those  observers  who  had 
accounted  her  frigid  in  temperament  and  mechanical  in 
style.  At  the  beginning,  with  exquisite  skill  and  pro- 
priety, she  gave  to  Pauline  a  tone  of  languid  artifice, 
but  that  was  cast  aside  the  moment  the  character 
becomes  dominated  by  genuine  feeling,  and  thereafter 
the  treatment  of  the  ordeal  with  Jlelnotic  was  marked 


MARY    ANDERSON  41 

by  deep  tenderness  struggling  through  righteous,  nat- 
ural, woman-like  resentment.  The  preeminence  and 
especial  individuality  of  the  actress  were  seen  to  be 
tragical, — the  outbursts,  when  they  came,  being  some- 
what out  of  harmony  with  the  capability  of  the  part, 
and,  in  fact,  the  wild  utterances  of  a  personal  nature 
much  larger,  broader,  and  deeper  than  that  which  it 
assumed.  So  much  pathos,  however,  such  lovely  use 
of  gentleness,  and  such  forlorn  misery  in  the  crushed 
condition  of  Pauline  have  seldom,  if  ever,  been  infused 
into  an  assumption  of  this  character. 

In  her  impersonation  of  Julia,  in  "The  Hunchback," 
Miss  Anderson's  denotement  of  the  dignity  of  grief  was 
intensely  impressive.  With  the  lighter  elements  of  the 
part,  its  innocence,  sweetness,  grace,  mirth,  and  pride, 
and  with  its  transit  from  rural  simplicity  to  superficial 
artifice  and  feather-brained  folly,  she  was  easily  con- 
versant, and  as  to  those  elements  her  various  condition 
and  devious  and  piquant  action  were  admirable.  There 
comes  a  time  in  the  experience  of  Julia  when  almost 
the  greatest  sorrow  that  a  woman  can  feel  has  suddenly 
aroused  her  to  a  sense  of  the  solemn  reality  of  life  and 
thrown  her  for  support  upon  the  resources  of  her 
spiritual  strength.  At  certain  moments  in  the  Fourth 
and  Fifth  acts  of  "The  Hunchback"  the  performer  ,of 
its  heroine  can  show  her  as  rising  to  a  noble  height  of 
moral  majesty.  All  littleness  falls  away  from  her. 
The  tumult  of  passion  is  hushed  by  the  consciousness 


42  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

of  fault  and  of  duty.  The  mood  is  one  of  settled  misery, 
but  the  soul  will  be  true  to  itself  and  adequate  to  every 
test  that  fate  may  enjoin.  It  was  in  her  exquisite 
repose,  at  the  extreme  tension  of  the  feeling  thus 
indicated,  that  Miss  Anderson  reached  the  crowning 
excellence  of  her  Julia.  It  is  no  common  intellect  that 
understands,  and  no  common  achievement  in  the  dra- 
matic art  that  makes  others  understand,  the  absolute 
isolation  and  loneliness  of  the  human  soul  in  every  one 
of  the  great  experiences  of  life.     That  was  her  victory. 

After  the  late  William  S.  Gilbert  (1836-1911)  had 
seen  Mary  Anderson  act  Galatea,  in  his  "Pygmalion 
and  Galatea,"  he  wrote  for  her  use  another  play,  called 
"Comedy  and  Tragedy."  Those  two  plays  she  often 
acted  on  the  same  night  and,  doing  so,  pointed  a  strik- 
ing contrast,  gave  a  puissant,  convincing  evidence  of  her 
dramatic  power,  and  provided  one  of  the  best  theatrical 
bills  of  her  time. 

Her  Galatea  furnished  a  shining  example  of  what 
can  be  accomplished  when  a  character  in  itself  slender 
receives  the  investiture  of  a  noble,  poetical  personality. 
Galatea  as  embodied  by  Miss  Anderson  was  a  superb 
type  equally  of  woman's  ideal  grandeur  and  woman's 
human  loveliness.  The  charm  which  she  diffused  through 
the  character  was  that  of  angelic  innocence  pervading 
a  sinless  though  human  and  passionate  love  and  express- 
ing itself  in  artless  words  and  ways,  which  sometimes 
brought  a   smile   to  the  lips   and   sometimes   smote  the 


I'ii/ih  ii  Photograph  \>ii  Barony. 


In  thr  Collection  of  T.  R.  Smith,  Esq. 


MARY    ANDERSON 

as 

Galatea,  in  "Pygmalion  and  Galatea." 


MARY    ANDERSON  43 

heart  with  a  sudden  sense  of  desolate  grief.  But  the 
meaning  with  which  this  actress  freighted  the  experience 
of  Galatea  was  productive,  for  the  character,  of  a  power 
which  transcended  its  charm.  That  meaning  is  the 
hopelessness  of  an  ideal  love  or  an  ideal  life  under 
such  conditions  of  existence  as  those  which  environ  the 
human  race.  Such  a  love  may  be  cherished  in  the 
heart;  such  a  love  may  be  lived  in  the  mind;  but  the 
one  can  have  no  fulfilment  and  the  other  must  be  lonely 
and  cold.  In  other  words,  the  ideal  and  the  actual  in 
human  life  are  confronted, — not  conjoined.  Still 
more,  since  experience  is  inexorably  operative  and  must 
always  bring  its  consequence,  any  practical  surrender 
to  the  ideal  is  a  choice  of  suffering  and  perhaps  of 
death.  A  great  love  must  destroy  either  itself  or  the 
being  who  feels  it.  True  passion  is  not  a  wisp-light — 
it  is  a  consuming  flame,  and  either  it  must  find  fruition 
or  it  will  burn  the  heart  in  which  it  has  been  enkindled 
to  dust  and  ashes.  There  is  no  creature  as  lonely  as  the 
dweller  in  the  intellect.  Those  are  the  truths  that  Miss 
Anderson  made  clear  and  impressive  in  her  performance 
of  Galatea.  In  her  presentment  of  "Pygmalion  and 
Galatea"  she  elicited  all  the  thought  that  is  in  the 
play.  That  irremediable  wrench  or  warp  in  human  nature 
which  seems  to  have  been  ever  present  to  the  mind  of 
Gilbert — that  incongruity,  now  grotesque  and  now  piti- 
able, which  was  constantly  visible  to  him,  between  good- 
ness and  depravity,  between  loveliness  and  the  debasing 


44  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

influences  of  a  corrupt  world — was  steadily  manifested. 
But  it  remained  for  Miss  Anderson,  with  her  sweeter 
perception  and  deeper  and  gentler  insight,  to  give  a 
broader  application  to  elemental  truths.  That  white 
marble  statue,  when  all  is  over,  when  the  play  is  ended 
and  the  heart  has  ceased  to  beat, — that  crystal  image  of 
purity  and  truth, — is  not  the  symbol  of  sorrow  and 
defeat,  but  the  emblem  of  a  celestial  triumph.  Life 
and  love  are  for  the  frail  and  fleeting  creatures  of  the 
common  world.  No  more  worship  of  a  shadow!  No 
more  dependence  on  the  shallow  and  fickle  heart  of  man! 
No  more  of  disappointment,  denial,  and  the  weary, 
wasting,  withering  sickness  of  speechless  grief!  Tears 
will  never  dim  those  glorious  eyes,  nor  sorrow  mar 
again  the  perfect  peace  of  that  heavenly  brow.  Mortal 
life  was  too  narrow,  too  weak  and  poor  for  that  immor- 
tal spirit.     The  statue  is  the  victor. 

From  the  first  Miss  Anderson's  performance  of 
Galatea  was,  technically,  one  of  her  best  works.  It 
presented,  even  at  the  outset,  few  and  trivial  blemishes, 
and  those  soon  disappeared.  If  viewed  simply  as  dra- 
matic execution,  without  reference  to  its  deep,  interior 
meaning,  it  wras  a  delight  to  the  faculty  of  taste  and 
a  joy  to  the  sense  of  sweet  and  gentle  humor,  while 
to  the  love  of  beauty  it  was  a  supreme  contentment. 
The  perfect  Greek  dress,  the  white  loveliness  of  the 
statue,  the  eager,  radiant  face,  the  subtle  suggestion 
of  pain  as  wrell  as  rapture  in  the  process  of  awakening 


MARY    ANDERSON  45 

from  the  marble,  the  grace  of  movement,  the  complete 
repose,  the  finely  modulated  action,  the  honest  eyes,  the 
softly  musical  voice — those  attributes  and  graces  might 
be  named  among  its  felicities  of  exterior  and  of  art.  No 
trace  of  self-consciousness  marred  the  fresh  bloom  of 
the  Greek  girl's  innocence.  Truth  was  in  every  look 
and  every  tone.  In  reverie  she  had  the  sweetly  grave 
manner  and  the  winning,  confiding  helplessness  of  a 
child.  Her  horror  at  sight  of  the  dead  fawn  and  her 
terror  at  sight  of  its  destroyer  were  so  entirely  earnest 
and  seemingly  natural  that  they  created  a  distinct 
illusion  and  impressed  as  much  as  they  amused.  Her 
artlessness  and  her  spontaneous  glee,  in  the  comic  scene 
with  Chrysos,  were  expressed  with  a  delicious  variety 
of  elocution  and  made  to  communicate  a  rich  glow  of 
enjoyment.  Her  action  and  her  passionate  vehemence 
of  supplication  that  Cynisca  will  spare  Pygmalion 
wrought  a  superbly  tragic  effect.  Her  pathos  in  the 
closing  scene  had  the  cruel  reality  of  pain,  and  was 
indeed  a  wonderful  simulation  of  misery — not  the  trivial 
pique  and  perplexity  that  flow  from  wounded  pride,  but 
the  utter  woe  of  a  broken  heart.  Every  portion  of  the 
texture  of  her  work  was,  to  those  ends,  animated  by  a 
fine  intelligence  and  finished  with  delicate  skill. 

Galatea  is  ideal.  Clarice,  in  "Comedy  and  Tragedy," 
is  actual.  The  crucial  situation  in  which  Clarice  is 
placed  imperatively  commands  the  simultaneous  por- 
trayal of  a  terrific  struggle  in  a  woman's  heart  and  of 


46  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

the  exercise  of  mimetic  talents  by  an  accomplished 
actress.  There  is  but  little  in  the  play,  aside  from  that 
situation.  Clarice  is  a  wife,  and  she  and  her  husband 
are  actors.  She  has  been  pursued  and  persecuted  with 
great  insolence  by  a  Regent  of  France.  Her  husband 
has  challenged  that  oppressor,  but  the  challenge  has 
been  declined,  with  contempt:  a  prince  cannot  fight  with 
an  actor.  In  their  desperate  resentment  those  wronged 
and  infuriated  lovers  contrive  a  plot  to  lure  the  Regent 
into  their  power  and  compel  him  to  submit  to  the  arbitra- 
ment of  the  sword.  The  plot  succeeds.  The  two  men 
depart  into  a  garden  to  fight  their  duel,  in  which  one 
must  surely  die.  Clarice,  momentarily  left  alone,  is 
soon  the  centre  of  a  brilliant  throng  of  guests  whom  she 
must  entertain.  They  ask  a  specimen  of  her  art — 
an  illustration  of  Comedy  and  Tragedy.  Clarice,  listen- 
ing all  the  while  for  the  sounds  of  the  combat  outside, 
and  knowing  that  perhaps  her  husband  may  in  a  moment 
fall  by  the  hand  of  their  loathsome  enemy,  must  act 
the  part  of  a  strolling  player.  That  she  does,  and  that 
is  the  situation.  Transparency  was  used  by  Mary 
Anderson,  as  Rosalind,  with  an  effect  of  winning  sweet- 
ness: as  Clarice  she  used  it  with  an  effect  of  overwhelm- 
ing tragic  power. 


II. 

EDWARD  HUGH  SOTHERN.  1859-19—:  JULIA  MAR- 
LOWE, MRS.  E.  H,  SOTHERN,  1862-19—.  THE 
SOTHERN-MARLOWE  COMBINATION. 

The  names  of  Edward  H.  Sothern  and  Julia  Mar- 
lowe,— actors    whose    professional    career    began    in    the 
same   period   and,   after   proceeding   in   adjacent   path- 
ways for  many  years,  finally,  through  their  participation 
in  plays  of  Shakespeare,  converged  in  1904,  and  whose 
private  lives  were  united  by  marriage,  August  17,  1911, 
— naturally  associate  themselves  in  the  dramatic  record. 
Mr.  Sothern  was  born  in  New  Orleans,  on  December  6, 
1859.      His   first   appearance    on    the    stage   was    made 
at  the  new    (Abbey's)    Park  Theatre,   New  York,   on 
September  8,  1879, — a  debut  which  I  saw  and  remem- 
ber,— in    the    theatrical    company    of    his    distinguished 
father,  Edward  Askew  Sothern  (1826-1881).    The  elder 
Sothern,  early  in  life,  wished  to  act  in  tragedy,  and  to 
the    last    he    valued    his    serious    more    than    his    comic 
abilities.     His   principal   success,   however,    was   gained 
in   grotesquely   comic,    satirical    performances, — such   as 
that  of  Lord  Dundreary ,  in  his  variant  of  "Our  Ameri- 
can  Cousin,"   and   as   Fitzaltamont,  in   "The   Crushed 

47 


48  THE  WALLET  OF  TIME 

Tragedian."  His  son  Edward,  though  by  temperament 
and  proclivity  distinctly  a  comedian,  and  though  pos- 
sessed of  a  less  delicate  and  artistic  method  than  that 
of  his  father,  early  evinced  a  similar  propensity  toward 
serious  drama,  and  he  has  achieved  notable  popular 
success  in  the  field  which  was  closed  to  the  elder  actor, — 
wresting  himself  from  his  natural  bent,  assuming  three 
of  the  most  exacting  tragic  characters  in  Shakespeare, 
making  many  earnest,  studious  productions  of  serious 
plays,  gaining  many  golden  opinions,  reflecting  credit 
on  his  profession  and  earning  for  himself  recognition 
and  honorable  renown  in  the  Theatre  of  his  period. 
Among  conspicuously  successful  productions  made  by 
him,  apart  from  those  accomplished  in  association  with 
Julia  Marlowe,  the  chief  are  "The  Dancing  Girl," 
"Captain  Lettarblair,"  "The  Prisoner  of  Zenda,"  "The 
Adventures  of  Lady  Ursula,"  "The  King's  Musketeer," 
"The  Sunken  Bell,"  "Hamlet,"  "Richard  Lovelace," 
"If  I  Were  King,"  "Richelieu,"  and  "The  Fool  Hath 
Said,  'There  Is  No  God.' '  Analysis  of  all  those  plays 
and  of  Mr.  Sothern's  performances  in  them  is  not 
essential.  His  Duke  of  Guisebury,  Lettarblair,  and 
Rudolph  Rassendyll,  for  example,  were  no  more  than 
respectable,  competent,  ephemeral  personations  by  a 
clever,  experienced  actor  in  plays  of  the  hour.  Other 
embodiments  of  his,  by  reason  both  of  attempt  and 
accomplishment,  as  well  as  of  subject,  require  consid- 
erate attention  in  this  work. 


SOTHERN-MARLOWE    COMBINATION     49 

"HAMLET." 

It  is  "sweet  and  commendable"  in  the  nature  of  any 
actor  that  he  should  wish  to  impersonate  Hamlet,  for 
the  character  is  beautiful  and  the  play  which  it  pervades 
and  illumines  is  one  of  transcendent  intellect  and  sub- 
limity. There  are,  however,  insuperable  obstacles  in  the 
way  of  most  actors  when  they  approach  that  subject. 
It  is,  indeed,  readily  possible  for  an  experienced  actor 
of  respectable  talent  to  dress  in  the  customary  trappings 
of  woe  and  to  walk  conventionally  through  the  part  of 
Hamlet,  speaking  the  words  smoothly,  and  giving  a 
more  or  less  picturesque  embodiment  of  meditative 
melancholy:  and  this  is  all  that  usually  is  accomplished. 
The  essential  quality  of  the  character, — its  soul  of  misery, 
its  grandeur  of  desolation,  its  significance  as  an  image 
of  finite  man  baffled,  overwhelmed,  and  ruined  in  the 
struggle  to  comprehend  and  dominate  the  awful  mystery 
of  his  infinite  environment, — is  scarcely  ever  even 
remotely  suggested.  The  Poet  has  created  and  dis- 
played a  type  of  human  nature  at  its  highest  and  best, 
— a  beautiful,  exalted  soul,  shrined  in  a  physical  form 
of  perfect  grace;  a  being  invested  with  lofty  social 
station,  "the  expectancy  and  rose  of  the  fair  state"; 
environed  by  circumstances  of  romantic  and  awful  char- 
acter ;  deficient  in  the  attribute  of  will ;  o'erladen '  by 
the  burden  of  distracting  thought;  blasted  by  grief; 
tainted  by  madness;  overwhelmed  not  only  by  terrible 


50  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

personal  affliction  but  by  the  accumulation  of  the  shocks 
and  sufferings  of  earthly  experience;  alike  in  tendency 
and  external  propulsion  made  a  total  failure;  the  tran- 
scendent type  of  all  that  is  inexplicably  strange,  dark, 
and  miserable  in  the  spiritual  destiny  of  man.  The 
Stage  ordinarily  presents,  as  a  correlative  of  that  image, 
a  handsome  young  man,  his  face  carefully  clean  shaven, 
his  hair  carefully  curled,  attired  in  neat  and  becoming 
black  velvet  clothes,  looking  as  though  on  the  instant 
liberated  from  a  band-box,  with  no  more  sense  of  the 
terrible  facts  of  moral  responsibility,  spiritual  suffering, 
life,  death,  and  an  inscrutable  destiny,  than  a  feather 
has  of  the  breeze  by  which  it  is  blown. 

Many  actors  have  played  Hamlet  in  a  respectable 
manner.  E.  L.  Davenport  was,  for  many  years,  cus- 
tomarily accepted  and  cited  as,  in  all  respects,  an  effi- 
cient and  thoroughly  satisfactory  representative  of  the 
part.  He  had  a  sufficiently  correct  ideal  of  it  for  prac- 
tical purposes,  and  he  expressed  that  ideal  clearly, 
fluently,  and  with  effective  precision;  but,  probably,  no 
one  of  his  auditors  was  ever  thrilled,  fascinated,  or  even 
deeply  moved  by  his  expression  of  it,  howsoever 
impressed  by  his  profound  reverence  for  the  subject  and 
by  the  inherent  power  and  magical  charm  of  the  play; 
and  this,  which  was  true  of  Davenport,  was  also  true 
of  his  compeers,  such  as  Forrest,  Murdock,  Couldock, 
Vandenhoff,  Marshall,  and  others,  the  capable,  admired, 
and  honored  chieftains  of  a  by-gone  age.     The  simple 


From  a  Photograph  by  Schloss.  In  the  Collection  of  the  Author. 

EDWARD    II.    SOTHERN 


Jliimli  I. 


SOTHERN-MARLOWE    COMBINATION     51 

truth  is  that  no  actor  has  ever  really  conquered  as 
Hamlet,  or  can  ever  hope  to  conquer,  unless  possessed 
of  the  temperament  of  genius,  possessed  of  the  Hamlet 
nature, — which  commingles  great  intellect,  great  imag- 
ination, and  great  tenderness,  with  a  constitutional 
susceptibility  to  melancholy, — and  possessed,  also,  of 
that  strange  personal  allurement,  partly  physical  beauty, 
partly  inspirational  light,  and  partly  spiritual  charm, 
which  never  yet  was  wholly  explicable  in  words,  but  which 
never  yet  has'  failed,  in  whatsoever  branch  of  art  made 
manifest,  to  diffuse  an  irresistible  enchantment  for  the 
human  race.  In  many  other  characters  the  efficiency 
of  trained  talent  proves  adequate  and  victorious;  never 
in  Hamlet. 

Mr.  Sothern,  an  actor  of  exceptional  talent — whose 
assumption  of  Hamlet  was  first  made  known  at  the 
Garden  Theatre,  New  York,  on  September  17,  1899, 
and  which,  since  then,  has  become  familiar  throughout 
America — gave  a  performance  of  which  it  can  justly 
be  said  that  it  was  careful,  intelligent,  thoughtful,  and 
respectably  good.  It  is  not  disparagement  which  records 
the  fact  that  Mr.  Sothern  is,  essentially,  a  comedian: 
it  is  judgment  in  classification  and  definition  of  acting. 
In  attempting  Hamlet  he  measured  himself  by  a  colossal 
standard,  and,  considering  the  slender  calibre  of  his  nat- 
ural gifts  and  cultivated  powers,  it  is  much  to  his  credit 
that  he  did  not  dash  himself  to  pieces  in  the  effort.  He 
did  not  embody  Hamlet,  but  he  presented,   after  the 


52  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

manner  of  eminent  mediocrity,  a  sufficiently  interesting 
type  of  fantastic  mental  disturbance  and  juvenile  gloom. 
The  principal  attributes  of  his  embodiment  of  the  man 
whom  he  displayed  as  Hamlet  were  sincerity  of  pur- 
pose, earnestness  of  mind,  strenuous  effort,  and  fit- 
ful, spasmodic  force.  He  spoke  the  text  with  fluency, 
and,  though  seldom  with  expressive  modulation  such  as 
is  sequent  on  spontaneity  of  feeling,  with  a  propriety  of 
intelligence  that  usually  apprehended  and  conveyed  its 
surface  meanings.  Pie  indicated  a  right  sense  of  filial 
tenderness  and  reverence.  He  showed  a  certain  nobility 
of  righteous  scorn  and  moral  fervor, — notably  in  the 
Closet  Scene, — and,  once  or  twice  (as  when  listening 
to  the  Ghost,  apostrophizing  "your  gracious  figure,"  and 
uttering  Hamlet's  dying  words),  he  became  mournfully 
passionate  and  momentarily  sympathetic.  On  the  other 
hand,  he  lacked  personal  distinction,  innate  princely 
authority,  grace  of  movement,  invariable  clarity  of 
articulation,  mobility  of  facial  expression,  deep  tender- 
ness of  feeling,  depth,  variety,  and  charm  of  voice,  that 
sense  of  being  haunted  which  only  a  powerful  imagina- 
tion can  awaken  and  impart,  and,  at  certain  great  pivotal 
moments  of  the  tragedy, — such  as  Hamlet's  first  meet- 
ing with  the  Ghost;  his  parting  with  Ophelia;  his 
delirium  at  the  climax  of  "the  mouse  trap"  play,  and  his 
frenzied  joy  and  horror  at  the  killing  of  Polonius, — he 
conspicuously  lacked  the  passion  that  should  be  electrical 
and  the   tragic  power   that  should  carry   all   before  it. 


SOTHERN-MARLOWE    COMBINATION     53 

Of  the  corrosive  misery  of  Hamlet,— misery  that  has 
sapped  the  foundations  of  his  mind  and  life,  and  which 
steadily,  mercilessly,  inexorably,  and  irresistibly  burns 
out  his  heart  and  propels  him  onward  to  ruin  and  death, 
— he  gave  no  adequate  denotement.  In  a  word,  from 
the  first  performance  and  until  the  latest  repetition,  his 
personation  of  this  marvellous  part,  though  gaining  in 
force,  feeling,  and  the  nice  adjustment  and  flexibility 
of  mechanism,  began,  continued,  and  ended  completely 
within  the  limits  of  stage  utility,  the  conventional,  and 
the  commonplace. 

In  Mr.  Sothern's  earliest  revival  of  the  tragedy  much 
effort  was  visible  to  create  novelty  of  effect  by  invention 
of  new  stage  business,  such  as  each  successive  new 
Hamlet  seeks  to  contribute,  and  by  various  restorations 
and  excisions  in  the  text,  which  sometimes  obscured  the 
meaning.  A  better,  because  clearer  and  shorter,  text 
was  ultimately  utilized  by  this  actor,  and  the  play  was 
set  with  thoughtful  regard  to  archaeological  detail — 
the  exterior  view  of  Elsinore  Castle,  in  particular,  a 
gloomy,  gray,  antique  fabric,  overhanging  the  sea, 
being  imaginative  in  composition  and  beautiful  in 
effect. 

The  instructive  facts  are  that,  in  the  Ghost  Scenes, 
which  are  the  test  scenes  of  this  tragedy,  Mr.  Sothern 
neither  expressed  awe  nor  inspired  terror;  that  his 
delivery  of  the  speech  on  life  and  death  and  the  "some- 
thing after  death"   was  so  hollow  and  superficial  as  to 


54  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

be  completely  insignificant;  that  he  did  not  dominate,  as 
surely  Hamlet  ought  to  do,  the  climax  of  the  Play 
Scene;  that  he  was  merely  melodramatic  in  the  killing  of 
Polonius — a  crisis  so  terrible  that  it  ought  almost  to 
rend  the  hearts  of  his  hearers;  and  that,  from  first  to 
last,  his  demeanor  and  speech,  his  repose  and  action, 
all  the  concurrent  attributes  of  his  personality,  were  so 
void  of  authoritative  puissance,  so  light  and  thin,  that, 
while  he  pleased  by  his  earnestness,  he  often  seemed 
hopelessly  frivolous.  Denial  of  his  abstract  merit  as 
a  conscientious  and  capable  actor  would  be  idle  and 
wrong,  but  no  man  rationally  expects  to  be  applauded 
who  goes  to  sea  in  a  teaspoon.  Less  than  that,  in  cen- 
sure of  his  performance,  remembering  what  this  great 
play  really  is,  would  be  weakness;  more  than  that,  in 
his  praise,  would  be  folly.  The  standard  by  which  a 
dramatic  artist  is  to  be  judged  is  not  that  of  technical 
utility  or  monetary  gain. 

"RICHARD     LOVELACE." 

Mr.  Sothern  appeared,  September  9,  1901,  at  the 
Garden  Theatre,  New  York,  presenting  the  play  by 
Laurence  Irving  called  "Richard  Lovelace.'-'  That  play 
is  the  image  of  a  romantic,  sanguinary,  grievous  love 
affair,  which,  fancifully  speaking,  befell  in  the  old  city 
of  Worcester,  England,  in  1651,  and  in  which  the 
English  poet  Lovelace  was  the  principal  participant. 
Worcester,    in    1651,    was   held    by    the    army   of    King 


SOTHERN-MARLOWE    COMBINATION     55 

Charles  the  Second  and  was  beleaguered  by  that  of  the 
Parliament,  under  Cromwell.  Among  its  inhabitants 
were  Alderman  Sacheverell  and  his  beautiful  daughter, 
Lucy.  The  Alderman,  once  wealthy,  had  become 
impoverished,  and  he  was  a  spy  in  the  service  of  Crom- 
well. Sacheverell  and  his  daughter  dwelt  in  an  attic 
lodging,  and  Colonel  Hawley,  an  elderly  officer,  of  the 
royal  service,  occupied  an  adjacent  room.  Hawley  had 
fallen  in  love  with  Lucy  Sacheverell,  but  had  not  pros- 
pered in  his  wooing.  On  the  day  of  the  battle  of 
Worcester  (Cromwell's  "crowning  mercy")  Richard 
Lovelace,  escaping  many  perils,  made  his  way  into  that 
city,  seeking  to  fight  for  the  King,  and  also  seeking 
Colonel  Hawley,  who  was  his  friend,  and  by  chance  he 
came  to  Sacheverell 's  lodging,  saw  Lucy,  and  instantly 
loved  her, — so  that  the  comrades  at  once  became  rivals. 
Lucy,  who  had  already  been  fascinated  by  the  poetry  of 
Lovelace,  no  sooner  saw  him,  in  his  beauty,  than  she 
yielded  her  fancy  to  his  enchantment.  The  jealous 
Hawley,  blinded  by  passion,  thereupon  basely  contrived 
to  send  him  to  a  place,  in  the  impending  battle,  where 
there  was  to  be  a  mine  explosion,  of  which  he  had 
obtained  a  warning,  in  which  explosion  he  trusted  that 
his  rival  would  be  killed.  The  treachery  prospered. 
Lovelace  was  thought  to  have  perished,  and,  after  a  time, 
Lucy  married  Colonel  Hawley.  Lovelace,  however, 
severely  wounded,  nevertheless  in  some  measure  recov- 
ered,  and,   with  that  fidelity  to  an  ideal  which  is  the 


56  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

poet's  dream,  he  installed  himself  in  Mr.  SacheverelVs 
abandoned  lodging,  and  there,  for  several  years, — keep- 
ing all  things  as  Lucy  had  left  them, — he  dwelt,  in 
penury,  cherishing  the  image  of  a  lost  love.  Such  a 
posture  of  circumstances  might  seem  fantastic,  but 
stranger  things  than  that  have  happened,  in  human 
experience,  and  with  the  sovereign  passion  all  things 
are  possible.  There  came  a  day,  at  last,  when  Lucy  and 
her  husband,  travelling  by  way  of  Worcester,  paused,  at 
her  solicitation,  to  revisit  their  old  residence,  so  that  the 
lovers  again  met  and  the  rivals  were  again  confronted. 
In  that  meeting  the  catastrophe  to  Lovelace  was 
explained,  the  infamy  of  Haivley  was  exposed,  and 
Lovelace,  in  a  frenzy  of  despairing  wrath  and  yet  of 
magnanimity,  compelled  a  conflict  with  his  enemy  in 
which  he  intentionally  perished. 

There  is  precipitation  in  the  conduct  of  the  plot 
of  this  touching  drama,  there  is  a  trace  of  improb- 
ability in  a  few  of  its  incidents,  and  the  language, 
being  of  one  invariable  kind,  is  not  adjusted  to  the 
different  characters  of  the  several  speakers;  but  the 
story  is  dramatically  and  therefore  effectively  told,  the 
movement  of  it  is  continuous  and  cumulative,  the  situa- 
tions are  sharply  defined,  and  the  persons  are  made  to 
express,  amply  and  pointedly,  the  feelings  by  which 
they  are  animated.  The  play  is  avowedly  romantic, — a 
fanciful  fiction,  not  a  chronicle  of  fact, — and  judgment 
of  it  should  bear  in  mind  that  romance  is  the  antithesis 


SOTHERN-MARLOWE    COMBINATION     57 

of  reality.     Its  defects  are  precipitancy,  sombre  color, 
and  occasional  monotony. 

Information  about  the  poet  Lovelace  is  derived,  chiefly, 
from  the  antiquarian  Anthony  A  Wood,  and,  in  some 
respects,  it  is  dubious  and  meagre.  He  was  the  eldest 
son  of  Sir  William  Lovelace,  of  Woolwich,  county  of 
Kent,  born  in  1618,  and  educated  at  the  Charterhouse, 
London,  and  at  Oxford.  Pie  was  honorably  graduated 
from  that  university  in  1636,  and  he  then  went  to  the 
Court  of  King  Charles  the  First,  under  the  patronage 
of  Lord  Goring,  and  presently  he  joined  the  royal  army 
and  followed  the  King's  standard  into  Scotland.  He 
inherited  a  valuable  estate,  but,  steadfastly  adhering  to 
the  unfortunate  royal  cause,  he  suffered  great  losses. 
In  1646  he  led  a  regiment,  which  he  had  raised,  in  the 
service  of  King  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  and  at  the  battle 
of  Dunkirk  he  was  severely  wounded.  Two  years  later 
he  returned  to  London,  and  there  he  passed  the  rest 
of  his  life.  He  was  married:  mention  is  made  of  his 
daughter,  Margaret  Lovelace,  who  became  the  wife  of 
Henry  Coke,  one  of  the  sons  of  the  famous  Chief 
Justice,  and  who  possessed  an  estate  which  had  belonged 
to  her  father,  at  Kingsdown.  Lovelace  was  more  than 
once  imprisoned  by  the  government,  and  toward  the  end 
of  his  days  he  became  miserably  poor.  Wood  records 
that,  in  his  youth,  he  was  distinguished  for  extraordinary 
personal  beauty  and  for  every  virtue,  that  he  wore  cloth 
of  gold  and  silver,  and  that  he  was  adored  by  women. 


58  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

There  is  some  mystery  about  the  close  of  his  career. 
It  seems  likely  that  his  property  was  withheld  from 
him  by  the  strong  hand  of  arbitrary  power,  and  there 
appears  to  be  good  reason  for  believing  that  his  miseries 
were  augmented  by  a  disappointment  in  love.  He  was 
enamoured  of  a  woman  named  Lucy  Sacheverell,  whom, 
in  his  poems,  he  celebrates  as  "Lucasta,"  and  with  whom, 
apparently,  he  had  established  an  intimacy  before  he 
went  to  the  siege  of  Dunkirk.  He  customarily  called 
her  "Lux  Casta."  He  found,  on  his  return  from 
France,  after  the  Battle  of  Dunkirk,  that  Lucy  Sachev- 
erell had  married,  believing  him  to  have  died,  and 
possibly  that  disappointment,  combined  with  ill-health 
and  loss  of  fortune,  broke  his  spirit.  He  went  about  in 
rag's,  he  lived  in  squalid  places,  he  sometimes  subsisted  on 
alms,  he  ultimately  fell  into  a  consumption,  and  he 
died  in  deplorable  penury.  His  death  occurred  in  a 
mean  lodging,  somewhere  near  Shoe  Lane,  London, 
in  1658,  when  he  was  only  forty  years  old,  and  he  was 
buried  in  the  west  end  of  St.  Bride's  Church,  in  Fleet 
Street.  His  poems  fill  two  little  volumes,  one  called 
"Lucasta,"  published  in  1649,  the  other  called  "Post- 
hume  Poems,"  published  ten  years  later:  both  have  been 
reprinted.  He  also  wrote  two  plays, — one  called  "The 
Scholar,"  the  other  "The  Soldier."  His  best  poem  is 
the  ode  "To  Althea,  from  Prison."  The  art  of  it  is  not 
faultless,  as  any  reader  can  perceive,  on  examination  of 
the  rhymes,  but  the  spontaneous  lyrical  passion  of  it  is 


EDWARD    H.    SOTHERN  59 

irresistible,  and  the  movement  is  as  free  as  the  waft 
of  a  sea-bird's  wing.  It  probably  was  written,  as  good 
lyrical  poems  usually  are,  without  the  least  effort,  and 
in  a  few  moments, — though  there  is  a  whole  lifetime  of 
passion  and  suffering  back  of  it. 

Laurence  Irving,  in  writing  this  play,  manifestly  took 
some  liberty  with  the  facts  of  the  poet's  life,  but  in  a 
play  the  essential  quality  is  action  that  culminates  in 
dramatic  effect,  and  much  that  inexorable  reason  would 
exact  must  be  sacrificed  in  order  to  obtain  that  quality. 
The  dramatist  has  exhibited  the  heroic,  chivalrous, 
romantic,  passionate  yet  gentle  strain  of  the  character 
of  Lovelace,  and  his  use  of  fancy  in  the  matter  of  cir- 
cumstance cannot  be  considered  either  extravagant  or 
injurious.  A  large  license  has  generally  to  be  allowed 
to  the  playwright  who  weaves  his  wreaths  of  fancy 
around  historic  persons.  It  is,  of  course,  essential  that 
calumny  should  not  be  transmitted  in  any  form  of 
literature  from  age  to  age:  but  theatrical  estimates  of 
illustrious  historic  persons,  such  as  Julius  Caesar  and 
Napoleon  Bonaparte,  need  not  cause  serious  solicitude. 
Such  persons  have,  necessarily,  become  themes  of  active 
controversy,  and  they  can  bear  any  amount  of  wash, 
whether  it  be  black  or  white.  It  does  seem  desirable, 
however,  that  when  a  dramatist  invades  the  compara- 
tively humble  realm  of  literary  biography  discreet  con- 
sideration should  be  accorded  to  the  ascertained  truth. 
That  discretion  has  not  always  been  exercised.     Shake- 


60  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

speare  has  been  made  a  stilted  guy  in  drama.  The 
poet  Richard  Savage,  bad  as  he  was,  has  been  made 
worse  in  a  play.  The  poet  Chatterton,  a  boy  of  intri- 
cate and  astonishing  character,  has  been  theatrically 
converted  into  a  sentimental  simpleton,  starving  and 
dying  in  a  garret,  because  his  sweetheart  did  not 
make  a  timely  arrival.  Goldsmith,  Burns,  Byron, 
and  Poe  have  been  misrepresented.  Moore  has  been 
absurdly  depicted.  Sheridan,  that  marvel  of  brill- 
iancy, has  been  shown  as  an  ass.  Admiral  Nel- 
son and  Emma  Hamilton  and  Count  D'Orsay  and 
Lady  Blessington  have  been  coarsely  victimized.  There 
is  no  limit  to  the  opportunity  of  theatrical  distortion 
that  is  provided  by  the  literary  field.  The  much  mar- 
ried poet  Milton  offers  a  fruitful  subject  for  stage 
fresco.  Carew,  Lyttelton,  Suckling,  Carey  (grand- 
father of  Edmund  Kean), — each  of  them  might  be  made 
the  protagonist  of  a  scandalous  play.  The  list  could 
readily  be  lengthened.  Good  taste,  however,  would 
have  every  reason  to  be  content  if  all  dramatists  working 
in  the  field  thus  indicated  were  to  prove  as  tasteful, 
adroit,  and  ingenuous  in  their  fables  concerning  literary 
notabilities  of  the  past,  and  as  sympathetic  and  felicitous 
in  their  characterization  of  ideals,  as  Laurence  Irving 
did  in  his  portrayal  of  Richard  Lovelace. 

Mr.  Sothern,  as  Lovelace,  impersonated  an  expe- 
ditious, impetuous,  chivalric  cavalier,  such,  in  general, 
as  he  had  often  made  agreeably  known  on  the  local  Stage, 


EDWARD    H.    SOTHERN  61 

but  his  embodiment  was  deeper  in  feeling,  more  sharply 
defined,  more  vital,  more  authoritative  with  continuity 
of  impersonation,  more  self-poised,  and,  alike  in  speech 
and  action,  more  rounded  and  finished  than  either  of 
his  previous  impersonations  had  been,  in  serious  drama. 
The  soldier  was  martial,  the  lover  was  impassioned,  but 
the  man  was  in  earnest  and  he  evinced  the  repose  of  deep 
feeling.  The  actor,  evidently,  felt  the  nobility,  beauty, 
and  pathos  of  the  ideal  to  which  he  imparted  form,  and 
he  showed  that  he  had  thought  on  it,  entered  into  the 
soul  of  it,  sought  to  become  identified  with  it,  and  so 
made  it  live.  The  part  is  replete  with  fluctuations  of 
emotion,  but  the  personality  is  dominated  by  one  passion. 
Love  at  first  sight  (rare,  no  doubt,  but  possible),  is 
first  to  be  expressed;  then  absolute  and  joyous  trust  of 
confiding  friendship;  then  quick  sense  of  honor,  com- 
mingled with  the  glowing  impetuosity  of  eager  and 
dauntless  courage;  then  momentary  suspicion  of  ill- 
usage,  quickly  quenched  in  reckless  excitement;  then 
the  languor  of  silent  sorrow,  the  monotonous  dejection 
of  hopeless  surrender,  the  patient,  abject  state  which 
the  poet  Tennyson  has  so  expressively  designated  as 
"the  set,  gray  life  and  apathetic  end";  and  then,  finally, 
the  sudden  reanimation  of  the  whole  being,  desperately 
seeking,  and  finding,  the  great  and  merciful  refuge  of 
death.  Mr.  Sothern,  playing  Lovelace,  manifested  the 
true  lover's  sense  of  the  sanctity  of  the  woman  whom  he 
loves.     He    was   whole-hearted,   simple   and   true,    as   a 


62  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

comrade.  He  revealed  at  least  a  theoretical  knowledge 
of  sorrow  when  in  the  dead  calm  of  adversity, — though 
I  hat  part  of  his  performance  was  its  weakest  link,  just 
as  that  part  of  the  play  showed  itself  to  be  its  most 
artificial  component.  In  Lovelaces  final  encounter  with 
his  opponent, — from  whom  he  extorts  the  boon  of  a  death 
wound, — he  vitalized  the  scene  with  a  fine  tumult  of 
feeling,  and  he  acted  with  such  simplicity  as  not  even 
once  to  mar  the  dignity  and  grace  of  the  situation, — 
attributes  indispensable  to  its  pathetic  effect.  His 
delivery  of  the  speech  about  the  sanctity  of  the  room 
in  which  the  idolized  Lucy  has  lived  and  his  acting  at 
the  moment  when  Lovelace  perceives  her  unexpected 
approach  are  remembered  with  warm  admiration,  for 
fidelity  to  nature  and  beauty  of  art.  In  the  closing 
scene,  which  is  overweighted  by  emphasis  and  attenuation 
of  agony,  the  melody  of  a  pathetic  vocalism  would  have 
been  of  inestimable  value — but  that  is  an  attribute  Mr. 
Sothern  has  not  shown  and,  apparently,  cannot  acquire. 
The  "sad  ending"  was,  as  usual,  deplored,  but  grief  has 
its  privilege;  and  Mr.  Irving's  play,  in  moving  the  heart 
to  pity  and  the  mind  to  thought,  is  not  merely  an  idle 
exemplification  of  its  fortunate  epigraph;  couched  in 
the  words  of  the  unfortunate  and  unhappy  Lovelace: 

"Vain  dreams  of  love !  that  only  so  much  bliss 
Allow  us  as  to  know  our  wretchedness, 
And  deal  a  larger  measure  in  our  pain, 
By  showing  joy,  then  hiding  it  again." 


EDWARD    H.    SOTHERN  63 

"IF     I     WERE    KING." 

The  play  of  "If  I  Were  King,"  by  Justin  Huntly 
McCarthy, — which  Mr.  Sothern  brought  out  at  the 
Garden  Theatre  on  October  14,  1901 — illustrates  an 
imaginary  episode  in  the  life  of  Francois  Villon  (1431- 
14 — ),  the  dissolute  French  poet  who  wrote  "The 
Greater  Testament,"  etc.  It  contains  a  little  of  almost 
everything,  from  a  duel  by  the  light  of  lanterns  to  a 
ballet  in  a  bower  of  roses;  pothouse  wrangles  and  poetic 
recitations,  plots  and  counterplots,  disguises,  hairbreadth 
escapes  and  the  splendors  of  military  spectacle.  Although 
it  lacks  the  power,  weight,  and  consistent  sincerity  of 
serious  drama,  such  as  grows  out  of  actual  human  life 
and  takes  hold  on  earnest  human  feelings,  it  is  a  graceful 
piece  of  gossamer  and  it  gained  abundant,  long  continued 
success.  The  style  is  marred  by  occasional  infelicity  of 
phrase  and  by  language  that  is  inappropriate  and 
inelegant,  and  the  colloquy  is  hampered  and  retarded 
by  excess  of  sentimental  versification,  by  a  superflux 
of  flowery  talk,  and  by  needless  persons  and  incidents. 
The  closing  scene — disclosing  a  gibbet,  the  hero  and 
heroine  in  imminent  danger  and  an  eleventh  hour  and 
fifty-ninth  minute  pardon — is  handled  in  such  a  way  as 
to  divest  it  of  probability,  even  were  it  not  inherently 
preposterous.  But  it  is  romantic  in  character,  animated 
in  movement,  agreeably  diversified  by  incident,  written 
in  a  sprightly  though  sometimes  redundant  style,  and  it 


64  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

was  provided  with  a  pleasing  investiture  of  picturesque 
scenery,  so  that  while  feeding  the  fancy  and  satisfying 
the  vision,  it  afforded  ample  entertainment.  The  ground 
plan  of  the  fable  is  old,  but  it  has  not  outgrown  its 
intrinsic  allurement,  and  it  commends  itself  to  renewed 
favor  by  some  novelty  of  treatment.  Once  again  the 
King  prowls  around  his  capital,  in  disguise,  in  order 
that  he  may  hear  the  talk  of  his  subjects  and  acquaint 
himself,  by  personal  observation,  with  their  views  and 
feelings,  and  once  again  the  adventurous  monarch  meets 
with  the  indigent  but  exuberant  patriot  who  could  govern 
all  things  well  if  only  he  might  have  the  opportunity 
of  sway.  Those  persons  have  long  been  known  in  fiction, 
and  their  presence  has  always  been  enjoyed. 

In  this  instance  the  furtive  sovereign  is  the  grisly, 
wily,  cruel  King  Louis  the  Eleventh,  -while  the  potential 
savior  of  the  state  is  the  audacious,  merry,  tuneful, 
indomitable,  impecunious  Villon.  The  monarch  and  the 
poet  meet  in  a  tavern  in  Paris,  to  which  the  former 
has  repaired  in  quest  of  political  advantage,  while  the 
latter  has  come  thither  in  reckless  dissipation,  sad  with 
hopeless  love  and  bitter  against  himself  and  all  the 
world.  Being  there,  he  is  suddenly  enabled,  in  the 
interest  of  a  woman  whom  he  loves,  to  foil  the  intrigues 
of  a  treacherous  Constable  of  France.  The  garrulous 
bard,  unaware  of  his  royal  auditor,  freely  descants  on 
what  he  would  do  if  he  were  King,  and  when,  presently, 
he  has  assailed  and  defeated  the  disloyal  Constable,  who 


EDWARD    H.    SOTHERN  65 

is  present  for  a  purpose  of  knavery,  he  is  startled  to  find 
himself  taken  at  his  word  by  the  ruler  of  France,  and 
installed  in  the  office  of  his  discomfited  and  degraded 
foe.  During  one  week,  as  ordained  by  the  offended 
sovereign,  he  can  exercise  authority;  then  he  must 
suffer  death,  for  treasonable  censure  of  the  King.  His 
regnant  conduct,  as  Constable  of  France,  is  the  sub- 
stance of  the  play,  and  this  conduct  is,  by  turns,  humor- 
ous, sentimental,  and  martial:  he  passes  judgment,  in  a 
comic  yet  righteously  benevolent  strain,  on  his  unruly 
old  companions  of  the  tavern;  mystifies  and  enraptures 
the  woman  of  his  love  and,  by  his  valorous  leadership 
of  the  army,  in  battle,  defeats  the  assailing  forces  of 
rebellious  Burgundy  and  maintains  intact  the  fortitude 
of  Paris.  At  the  close  of  his  brief  reign,  and  when  the 
scaffold  has  been  set  for  his  execution,  he  is  redeemed 
by  the  devoted  fidelity  of  a  woman's  heart — King  Louis 
having  agreed  to  accept  a  vicarious  sacrifice  and  Kath- 
erine  de  Vaucelles,  whom  Villon  loves,  being  willing  to 
die  for  him. 

This  is  "Gringoire" — with  a  difference.  But  it  is  all 
free,  gay,  and  pleasant,  and  Mr.  Sothern, — ardent, 
impetuous,  pictorial,  as  Villon, — gave  a  smooth  and  dash- 
ing performance  in  a  sympathetic  mood  and  an  expert 
style.  The  part  is  one  of  the  showy,  laborious  order, 
imposing  on  its  representative  the  need  of  a  wide  range 
of  simulation — for  Villon  is  by  turns  and  in  rapid  suc- 
cession vagabond,  poet,  tosspot,  lover,   brawler,  soldier, 


66  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

schemer,  moral  hero,  and  ideal  gentleman;  but  the 
comedian  flashed  boldly  through  all  changes,  and  was 
deficient  only  in  that  winning  quality  of  vocalisin,  expres- 
sive of  feeling  and  diffusive  of  poetic  glamour,  which  is 
the  dominant  charm  of  the  romantic  actor. 

"RICHELIEU." 

Mr.  Sothern  acted  the  Cardinal,  in  Bulwer's  fine  play 
of  "Richelieu,"  for  the  first  time  in  New  York  on 
March  29,  1909,  at  Daly's  Theatre.  In  choosing  that 
part  he  chose  wisely,  because,  aside  from  the  fact  that 
it  admits  of  superb  dramatic  effect,  it  is  consonant 
with  the  refinement  of  his  style  and  calculated  to  elicit 
an  effective  use  of  his  best  serious  powers.  His  perform- 
ance of  Richelieu  was  not  intrinsically  good  in  ideal 
and  in  some  particulars  of  execution,  but  it  was  auspi- 
cious of  much  higher  achievement.  He  did  not  express 
either  the  deep  tenderness  of  Richelieu  s  nature,  as  it  has 
been  drawn  by  the  poet,  or  the  pathetic  loneliness,  the 
intellectual  isolation,  of  his  age,  but  he  gave  a  worthy 
and  creditable  representation  of  the  stately  ecclesiastic 
and  the  crafty  statesman.  There  is,  in  Richelieu,  a  mas- 
sive distinction  of  commanding  personality,  which  can, 
indeed,  be  imitated,  but  which  cannot  be  embodied  unless 
it  is  possessed,  and  that  weight  of  majestic  character 
reposes  on  a  basis  of  profound  feeling:  the  passions 
have  been  lulled  to  rest,  but  they  only  slumber,  and 
when  they   burst   forth  they  irradiate   a  noble   intellect 


EDWARD    H.    SOTHERN  67 

and   make    it    sublime    in    its    protective    vindication    of 
virtue  and  honor. 

There  is,  fortunately  (because  everybody  can,  thereby, 
sooner  or  later  be  pleased),  a  wide  difference  of  opinion 
as  to  the  province  of  drama  and  as  to  what  should  be 
considered  the  essential  constituents  of  a  great  play. 
The  comedy  of  "Richelieu,"  which  has  held  the  stage 
for  about  seventy-five  years,  contains  action,  story,  char- 
acter, situation,  suspense,  contrast,  and  picture,  and  it 
blends  humor  and  pathos.  The  central  character, — 
unique,  sympathetic,  essentially  human  and  continuously 
interesting, — is  a  great  man,  whose  inspiring  motive  is 
patriotic  devotion.  No  actor  since  Edwin  Booth  left 
the  stage  has  fully  manifested  Richelieu.  Macready,  the 
first  representative  of  the  part,  was  long  considered 
supreme  and  incomparable  in  it,  but  the  veteran  John 
Ryder, — who  came  to  America  with  Macready,  and 
acted  with  him,  and  idolized  him, — said  to  Edwin  Booth, 
after  seeing  Booth's  Richelieu:  'You  have  overthrown 
my  idol."  Forrest  was  effective  in  it.  John  McCul- 
lough,  Lawrence  Barrett,  and  Henry  Irving  gave  admi- 
rable performances  of  it, — that  of  Irving  being  notable 
for  an  artistic  infusion  of  the  French  temperament  and 
quality:  but  no  one  of  those  performances  rose  to  the 
grandeur  which  invested  the  embodiment  of  the  Cardinal 
given  by  Edwin  Booth.  That  performance  was  perfect: 
it  enthralled  every  beholder,  and  it  will  dwell  forever  in 
the  annals  of  great  acting.     The  best  representative  of 


68  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

Richelieu  now  on  the  American  Stage  is  Robert  Man- 
tell, — the  best,  because  he  possesses  the  deep  heart,  the 
large  experience  of  life,  the  philosophy,  the  repose,  and 
the  power  that  are  imperatively  essential.  It  is  inevi- 
table when,  as  happened  at  the  time  of  Mr.  Sothern's 
first  attempt  in  Richelieu,  two  prominent  actors  appear 
at  the  same  time  in  the  same  character  that  a  compari- 
son of  their  performances  will  glide  into  an  observer's 
thoughts.  In  one  particular  Mr.  Sothern  had  the 
advantage:  in  his  performance  of  the  Cardinal  there  was 
a  little  more  of  that  deliberation  and  that  attention  to 
detail  which  are  vitally  essential  to  the  effect  of  the 
part,  but  his  personation  lacked  that  inherent  majesty  of 
soul,  that  simplicity  of  demeanor,  and  that  overwhelm- 
ing power  which  were  prominent  and  right  in  the  per- 
formance given  by  Mr.  Mantell. 

Mr.  Sothern's  acting  showed  careful  and  thoughtful 
study,  and  likewise  it  indicated  acquaintance  with  some 
of  the  stage  examples, — notably  those  of  Barrett  and 
McCullough,  as  well  as  that  of  Edwin  Booth,  and  possibly 
that  of  Creston  Clarke,  Booth's  nephew,  who  gave  a 
striking  performance  of  the  part,  closely  copying  that 
of  his  uncle.  Mr.  Sothern's  "make-up"  was  good, 
although  the  hair  (described  in  the  text  as  "whitening") 
was  yellow  rather  than  gray.  His  execution  was  firm 
and  generally  neat,  though  deficient  of  flexibility.  His 
development  of  the  Cardinal's  slightly  ironical  humor 
was  instinct  with  satirical  but  not  unkindly  playfulness, 


EDWARD    H.    SOTHERN  69 

— shown  to  the  auditor,  while  veiled  from  the  inter- 
locutor, by  expert  use  of  transparency.  A  radical  defect 
was  finical  juvenility, — singular  in  the  case  of  an  actor 
no  longer  young.  The  Richelieu  of  fact  died  at  the  age 
of  fifty-seven;  the  Richelieu  of  the  play  is,  prematurely, 
much  older.  A  more  serious  defect  was  the  hard,  brittle, 
unsympathetic  vocalism.  In  the  climax  of  the  Fourth 
Act, — where  the  decisive  test  is  applied, — Mr.  Sothern 
was  obviously  and  conspicuously  artificial.  The  situa- 
tion, no  doubt,  is  one  that  has  been  artfully  devised  to 
create  a  theatrical  effect;  but,  when  it  is  rightly  treated, 
the  artifice  of  its  fabric  is  not  apparent,  except  to  expert 
observation:  and,  notwithstanding  the  commonplace 
notion  of  top-lofty  criticism,  that  things  done  on  the 
stage  should  be  "done  only  because  you  can  see  no 
reason  why  they  should  be  done,"  the  situation  is  neither 
forced  nor  unnatural. 

It  was  one  of  the  peculiarities  of  the  Richelieu  of 
fact  that  by  power  of  will  he  was  able  at  times  to 
compel  himself  to  vigorous  exertion  when,  almost  at 
the  same  instant,  he  had  been  fainting.  Moreover, 
great  situations  do,  sometimes,  occur,  even  in  actual 
life,  and  sometimes  they  are  greatly  met.  Genius  could 
enforce,  and  has  enforced,  the  truth  of  nature  in  that 
pivotal  situation  in  the  play  of  "Richelieu."  The  expe- 
dient of  obvious  strength,  obviously  pretending  to  be 
weakness,  will  not  serve  an  actor's  purpose  there.  The 
tremendous   excitement  of  that  moment   suddenly   ani- 


70  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

mates  breaking  age  with  the  vigor  of  intense  nervous 
energy,  and  the  threat  of  the  curse  of  Rome  leaps  from 
the  Cardinal's  lips  like  lightning  from  the  cloud.  That 
great  scene  supplies  one  more  illustration  of  the  para- 
dox of  acting.  The  emotion  involved  is  tremendous,  and 
the  conditions  rapidly  change.  The  actor  is  at  full  ten- 
sion, yet  he  must  take  precisely  the  right  amount  of  time, 
must  make  every  movement  with  precision,  must  place 
aright  every  inflection  of  tone  and  every  shading  of 
verbal  accent,  and,  while  his  passion  must  be  tumultuous 
and  terrible,  he  must  hold  both  himself  and  his  audience 
with  a  grip  of  iron.  Mr.  Sothern,  apparently,  had  not 
absorbed  the  full  meaning  of  the  fact  that  Richelieu, 
when  defied  as  the  Minister  of  State,  asserts  himself  as 
the  accredited  Minister  of  God.  Voice  and  vigor 
imperatively  require  to  be  reinforced  by  the  towering 
conviction  of  ecclesiastical  supremacy. 

"THE     FOOL    HATH     SAID,    'THERE     IS    NO    GOD.'" 

In  the  character  of  Rodion  Rasnikoff ' ,  in  "The  Fool 
Hath  Said,  'There  Is  No  God,'"  which  Mr.  Sothern 
assumed  for  the  first  time  in  New  York  at  the  Lyric 
Theatre  on  March  9,  1908,  he  afforded  .a  thoughtful 
study  of  morbid  mentality  and  gave  a  clear,  consistent, 
rounded,  and  finished  representation  of  a  half-crazed 
enthusiast.  The  play,  written  by  Laurence  Irving,  is 
a  theatrical  synopsis  of  a  Russian  novel,  by  Fedor 
Dostoievski,  called  "Crime  and  Punishment."     The  sub- 


EDWARD    H.    SOTHERN  71 

ject  was  originally  brought  upon  our  Stage  by  Richard 
Mansfield,  who  enacted  Rodion,  in  a  play  made  for  his 
use  by  Mr.  Charles  Henry  Meltzer  and  entitled  "Rodion 
the  Student,"  but  Mansfield's  performance  did  not  much 
interest  his  public,  and  the  part  of  Rodion  was,  prac- 
tically, discarded  by  him.  Mr.  Sothern's  presentment 
of  the  Russian  zealot,  while  it  illustrated  his  ability  and 
heightened  his  reputation  as  an  actor,  did  not  meet  with 
any  more  substantial  approval  than  Mansfield's  did. 
It  was  a  curiosity,  and  valuable  only  as  such.  There  is 
a  taint  of  disease  in  the  character,  and  there  is  a  hectic 
atmosphere  throughout  the  play,  unrelieved  by  either 
superiority  of  intellect,  poetic  emotion,  or  imaginative 
treatment. 

The  action,  which  is  slow,  proceeds  on  a  low  level, 
and  the  theme  is  confined  within  the  limits  of  prosaic 
fact.  Rodion,  infuriated  by  the  prospect  of  social  cor- 
ruption all  around  him,  in  Russia,  resentful  of  social 
inequalities,  crazed  by  brooding  over  continual  acts  of 
injustice  and  tyranny,  at  last  murders  a  brutal  man 
in  order  to  save  the  honor  and  chastity  of  a  good  girl 
whom  the  brute  has  pursued  with  hideous  lust.  The 
usual  police  effort  ensues  to  detect  and  apprehend  the 
murderer.  Suspicion  falls  on  Rodion,  who,  for  a  time, 
believes  himself  to  have  done  a  righteous  and  justifiable 
act,  and  who,  though  haunted  and  perplexed  by  con- 
sciousness of  homicide,  maintains  himself  in  fancied 
security.    An  astute,  insistent,  indefatigable  officer  of  the 


72  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

law,  however,  resorts  to  the  expedient — a  very  old  one  in 
fiction — of  causing  the  murder  to  be  rehearsed  in  Rodions 
presence,  and  by  that  means  so  works  upon  his  sensi- 
bilities that  he  is  made  almost  frantic  and  very  nearly 
driven  to  an  agonized  confession.  The  foreground  of 
the  play  is  occupied  with  an  exposition  of  Rodions 
peculiar  mental  state,  his  domestic  circumstances,  and 
his  vacillation  of  purpose.  The  centre  of  it  exhibits  his 
anguish  and,  practically,  his  collapse  and  surrender, 
under  the  strain  of  inquisitorial  torture.  The  close  pre- 
sents him  as  a  convert  from  his  early  theories.  His 
release  has  been  effected  through  the  action  of  one  of 
two  artisans,  both  accused  of  Rodin's  crime,  who,  in  an 
effort  to  save  his  comrade,  bears  false  witness  against 
himself;  and  then  his  mind  is  restored  to  comparative 
equilibrium  by  the  pious  counsel  and  admonition  of 
Sonia  Martinora,  the  girl  for  whose  sake  he  did  the 
murder;  and  whereas,  at  first,  he  was  strong  in  the 
opinion  that  there  is  no  God  and  that  every  man  is 
entitled  to  take  into  his  own  hands  the  execution  of 
justice,  he  is  at  last  persuaded  that  God  reigns  and  that 
vengeance  is  a  province  of  Divine  Power. 

The  worth  of  the  fabric,  such  as  it  is,  is  resident  in 
its  detective  quality.  As  a  play  it  appertains  to  the 
category  of  such  melodramas  as  "Rose  Michel,"  and 
such  novels  as  "A  Wife's  Evidence"  and  "Uncle  Silas." 
In  the  time  of  the  old  Union  Square  Theatre  the  public 
was  favored  with  many  works  of  that  order.     They  are 


E.   H.    SOTHERN— JULIA   MARLOWE        73 

well  enough,  in  their  way,  but  their  way  does  not 
amount  to  much.  This  one  is  seriously  marred  by  the 
complete  incredibility  of  many  of  its  incidents.  It  did, 
however,  provide  Mr.  Sothern  with  one  opportunity, 
in  the  Inquisitorial  Scene,  to  exhibit  a  considerable  range 
of  emotion  and  a  facile  method  in  the  display  and  use 
of  it.  In  point  of  sustained  identity  with  assumed  per- 
sonality it  was  an  excellent  performance. 

JULIA  MARLOWE. 

Julia  Marlowe  is  the  stage  name  of  Sarah  Frances 
Frost,  who  was  born  at  Caldbeck,  a  village  in  Cumber- 
land, England,  August  17,  1867.  Her  progenitors 
were  natives  of  the  English  Lake  District,  but  though 
by  birth  an  Englishwoman,  her  theatrical  career  has 
been,  from  the  first,  pursued  in  America,  and  she  is 
essentially  an  American  actress.  Her  parents  immi- 
grated to  the  United  States  when  she  was  about  five 
years  old,  and  settled  in  Kansas, — subsequently  remov- 
ing to  Ohio.  In  childhood  she  attended  school,  at  first 
in  Kansas  City,  later  in  Cincinnati.  Her  first  appear- 
ance on  the  stage  was  made  in  the  latter  city,  when 
she  was  in  her  twelfth  year,  as  a  chorus  girl,  in  a  per- 
formance of  "Pinafore,"  given  under  the  management 
of  Robert  E.  J.  Miles,  a  well  known  manager  at  that 
time  and  later  (he  died  March  13,  1894),  who,  in  form- 
ing his  company,  had  hit  on  the  ingenious  expedient  of 
including,    in    his    supernumerary    force,    a    few    bright 


74  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

pupils  from  the  public  schools.  The  girl  made  a  favor- 
able impression  and  thereupon  was  duly  advanced. 
She  appeared  as  Suzanne,  in  'The  Chimes  of  Nor- 
mandy," and  as  a  Page,  in  "The  Little  Duke,"  and  she 
was  commended  for  her  pretty  demeanor,  animated 
countenance,  and  sweet  voice. 

From  opera  the  youthful  aspirant  went  to  drama, 
and,  performing  under  the  name  of  Fanny  Brough, 
appeared  as  the  boy  Heindrieh,  in  a  version  of  "Rip 
Van  Winkle,"  produced  with  Robert  McWade,  one  of 
the  many  imitators  of  Joseph  Jefferson,  as  Rip.  She 
also  attempted  Maiia,  in  "Twelfth  Night,"  and  went  on 
as  Balthasar,  in  "Romeo  and  Juliet";  Stephen,  in  "The 
Hunchback,"  and  Myrene,  in  "Pygmalion  and  Galatea." 
In  her  sixteenth  year  she  left  the  stage,  and  during 
about  three  years  devoted  herself  to  study  of  plays, 
acting,  and  music,  under  the  direction,  chiefly,  of  Miss 
Ada  Dow.  In  1887,  having  adopted  the  name  of 
Julia  Marlowe,  she  appeared  as  an  actress,  assuming 
the  part  of  Parthenia,  in  "Ingomar."  Her  first  appear- 
ance on  the  New  York  Stage  was  effected,  in  that  part, 
on  the  afternoon  of  October  20,  1887,  at  the  Bijou 
Theatre.  In  December,  1888,  she  again  appeared  in 
the  metropolis,  acting,  at  the  Star  Theatre,  Parthenia, 
Viola,  and  Juliet.  Within  the  next  six  years  she  added 
to  her  repertory  the  characters  of  Julia,  in  "The  Hunch- 
back"; Pauline,  in  "The  Lady  of  Lyons";  Rosalind, 
in  "As  You  Like  It";  Galatea,  in  "Pygmalion  and  Gala- 


JULIA    MARLOWE  75 

tea";  Beatrice,  in  "Much  Ado  About  Nothing";  Imogen, 
in  "Cymbeline";  Constance,  in  "The  Love  Chase,"  and 
Letitia  Hardy,  in  "The  Belle's  Stratagem."  In  1891 
she  performed  as  Charles  Hart,  in  "Rogues  and  Vaga- 
bonds," by  Mr.  Malcolm  Bell,  and,  in  1893,  as  Chatter- 
ton,  in  a  play  on  the  story  of  that  unfortunate  boy,  by 
Ernest  Lacy. 

In  1894  Julia  Marlowe  was  married  to  Robert  Taber, 
an  actor  of  ability,  who  had  been  the  leading  man  in 
her  dramatic  company.  The  marriage  proved  unhappy 
and,  in  1900,  Mrs.  Taber  obtained  a  divorce.  (Taber 
died,  of  tuberculosis,  March  7,  1904,  at  a  refuge  in  the 
Adirondack  Mountains,  provided  for  him, — for  he  had 
been  rendered  practically  destitute  by  illness, — through 
the  goodness  of  his  former  wife.)  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Taber 
had  sometimes  acted  in  professional  association  and 
sometimes  each  of  them  had  headed  a  separate  company. 
Prior  to  their  legal  separation  the  actress  had  played 
Lady  Teazle,  in  "The  School  for  Scandal";  Colombe, 
in  Robert  Browning's  "Colombe's  Birthday";  Kate 
Hardcastle,  in  "She  Stoops  To  Conquer";  Prince  Hal, 
in  "King  Henry  IV.";  Romola,  in  a  play  based  on  the 
novel  of  that  name  by  George  Eliot,  and  Mary,  in 
"For  Bonnie  Prince  Charlie,"  an  English  adaptation  of 
"Les  Jacobites,"  by  Francois  Coppee.  Later  she  acted 
Valeska,  Colinette,  and  Barbara  Frietchie,  in  plays  named 
after  their  respective  heroines,  and  Mary  Tudor,  in  a 
drama   called    "When    Knighthood   Was    In    Flower"; 


76  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

she  had  also  performed  Lydia  Languish,  in  "The 
Rivals,"  having  been  a  member  of  the  company  of  stars 
engaged  by  Joseph  Jefferson  for  the  representation  of 
that  comedy,  in  1896.  Among  her  later  performances, 
aside  from  those  in  association  with  Mr.  Sothern,  men- 
tion should  be  made  of  Fiamctta,  in  "The  Queen  Fia- 
metta,"  1902;  Charlotte  Oliver,  in  "The  Cavalier,"  a 
play  by  Messrs.  Paul  Kester  and  George  Middleton, 
based  on  a  novel  by  George  W.  Cable,  1902,  and  Lady 
B  archest  er,  in  "Fools  of  Nature,"  by  H.  V.  Esmond, 
1904.  On  September  19,  1904,  Mr.  Sothern  and  Miss 
Marlowe  began  their  professional  alliance,  at  the 
Grand  Opera  House,  Chicago,  in  "Romeo  and  Juliet." 
They  continued  to  act  together  for  three  seasons:  after 
that  they  again  headed  separate  companies.  They  were 
reunited  in  1909,  since  which  time  they  have  continued 
to  act  together.  In  1906-'07  they  cooperated  in  per- 
formances of  "Jeanne  D'Arc,"  by  Percy  Mackaye; 
"John  the  Baptist"  ("Johannes"),  by  Hermann  Suder- 
mann,  and  "The  Sunken  Bell"  ("Die  Versunkene 
Glocke"),  by  Gerhart  Hauptmann.  In  April,  1907, 
they  made  a  professional  appearance  in  London,  lasting 
six  weeks,  but  they  were  not  received  with  favor.  Their 
marriage  occurred  in  that  city,  four  years  later.  On 
February  15,  1909,  Miss  Marlowe  appeared  at  Daly's 
Theatre  as  Yvette,  in  "The  Goddess  of  Reason,"  by 
Miss  Mary  Johnston.  On  November  8,  1909,  Mr.  Soth- 
ern and  Miss  Marlowe  opened  the  ill-starred  New  The- 


From  a  Drawing  by  Strauss-Payton,  1012. 

JULIA    MARLOWE. 


JULIA    MARLOWE  77 

atre,  acting  in  "Antony  and  Cleopatra."  Their  regular 
repertory  includes  "Hamlet,"  "Romeo  and  Juliet," 
"Twelfth  Night,"  "Much  Ado  About  Nothing,"  "The 
Merchant  of  Venice,"  "The  Taming  of  the  Shrew," 
"As  You  Like  It,"  and  "Macbeth."  Miss  Marlowe's 
Shakespearean  performances  have  been  seen  at  their 
best  in  her  maturity  and  thus  in  association  with  Mr. 
Sothern,  and  they  can,  therefore,  be  most  conveniently 
considered  together  with  those  of  that  actor  in  the  same 
plays.  Representative  early  performances  of  hers  were 
Parthenia,  Mary,  Colinette,  Barbara  Frietchie,  and 
Mary  Tudor. 

"INGOMAR." 

The  play  of  "Ingomar," — a  delicate  fabric  of  poetic 
fancy,  completely  elusive  of  the  test  of  fact, — contrasts 
strongly,  and  favorably,  with  many  modern  plays  now 
current  and  prosperous,  but  the  audience  that  approves 
theatrical  pepper  will  ever  consider  it  insipid.  The 
motive  of  it  is  noble.  The  atmosphere  of  it  is  pure. 
The  spirit  of  it  is  beautiful.  The  allegory  involved  in 
it  is  one  that  should  impart  cheer  and  encouragement 
to  every  believer  in  the  possible  goodness  of  human 
nature,  and  the  attainment  of,  at  least,  a  little  felicity 
in  the  life  of  the  human  affections.  That  allegory 
signifies  the  conquest  of  arrogant  strength  by  gentle 
weakness;  of  ignorance  by  knowledge;  of  brutality  by 
refinement;  of  barbaric  passion  by  perfect  innocence;  of 
the  animal  by  the  spiritual.     All  votaries  of  the  Stage 


78  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

are  familiar  with  the  story  and  many  old  playgoers 
have  sweet  memories  associated  with  the  character  of 
Par  tli  aria. 

The  Greek  girl  who  goes  among  the  barbarians,  to 
redeem  her  father  from  slavery,  must  be,  essentially, 
true;  must  impart  the  decisive  impression  of  purity, 
gentleness,  courage,  honor,  unconscious  capability  of 
heroism,  and  artless  candor;  and  she  must  create  the 
effect  of  absolute  innocence  and  simplicity.  Expert 
treatment  of  this  character  would  always  win  admi- 
ration, but  it  would  never  arouse  enthusiasm,  because  it 
would  never  touch  the  heart.  Much  depends  on  art, 
but  more,  especially  in  this  case,  on  nature.  Miss  Mar- 
lowe, in  her  performance  of  Parthenia,  when  she  revived 
it  at  the  Empire  Theatre,  May  16,  1904,  only  deepened 
the  charming  impression  that  she  had  made  in  it  as  a 
girl;  and  she  did  so  because, — while  her  personality  was 
seen  to  have  become  ultra-potent  for  that  of  the  Greek 
maid, — the  essential  goodness  of  her  mind  and  tempera- 
ment suffused  the  character,  and  filled  it  with  warmth, 
loveliness,  and  light.  A  proficient  actress  knowrs,  of 
course,  how  to  seem  ingenuous;  how  to  express  the 
pretty  perversity  of  wilful  girlhood,  and  how  to  employ 
the  natural  wiles  of  feminine  allurement;  but,  over  all 
that  proficiency,  there  must  be  a  certain  glamour  of 
spontaneous  grace,  and  this  can  be  diffused  only  by  an 
actress  from  whose  spirit  it  is  liberated  as  the  fragrance 
is  from  the  rose.    Miss  Marlowe's  impersonation  evinced 


JULIA    MARLOWE  79 

mental  nobility  and  spiritual  grace,  and,  for  the  passing 
hour,  she  made  an  incredible  achievement  quite  plausible 
by  personal  enchantment  and  by  that  grateful  witchery 
of  fancy  which  causes  momentary  oblivion  of  the  gen- 
erally arid  world  of  fact.  No  other  performer,  since 
the  happy  time  of  Mary  Anderson,  has,  in  this  or  any 
kindred  character,  so  convincingly  expressed  the  frank, 
blithe  courage  that  comes  of  absolute  unconsciousness 
of  danger,  and  therewithal  the  condition  of  simplicity 
which  yet  is  alert  with  intelligence  and  piquant  with  arch 
and  kindly  mirth.  The  gradual  growth  of  the  girl's 
consciousness  of  the  subjugation  of  the  barbarian  chief, 
and,  later,  her  dawning  perception  of  her  own  subjuga- 
tion, were,  in  particular,  deftly  and  sweetly  denoted. 
The  part,  in  a  certain  sense,  and  in  the  right  person, 
plays  itself,  but  it  needs  fine  restraint  and  delicate  tact, 
— especially  at  such  passages  as  the  repulse  of  Polydore, 
the  cleansing  of  the  cups,  the  assumption  of  the  weapons, 
and  the  supplication  to  the  Timarch.  In  those  passages 
Miss  Marlowe  showed  the  value  of  her  ample  experience. 
For  impetuosity  and  tragical  force  there  is  little  oppor- 
tunity. Parthenia  is  an  image  of  loveliness,  and  as 
such  she  was  admirably  presented.  The  one  outburst 
of  tragical  emotion  occurs  at  the  moment  of  the  girl's 
defiance  of  the  barbarian,  when  his  delirium  of  passion 
bids  fair  to  overwhelm  them  both.  There  the  actress 
aroused  an  enthusiastic  response:  but  her  predominant 
triumph  was  in  the  gentler  aspects  of  womanhood.     The 


80  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

exquisite  modulation  of  her  voice  had  a  delicious  effect. 
The  delicate  flexibility  of  her  elocution,  sequent  on  fine 
intelligence  and  sympathetic  feeling,  descending  into 
every  word  and  making  every  shade  of  meaning  instantly 
obvious,  made  her  delivery  a  continuous  delight.  Miss 
Marlowe,  in  her  later  revivals  of  this  old  drama  (derived 
from  a  German  original  and  known  to  our  Stage,  inter- 
mittently, for  about  sixty  years),  judiciously  condensed 
it,  making  slight  alterations  that  accelerated  its  move- 
ment and  enhanced  its  effect.  Cynicism  may  smile  at 
this  old  play  and  its  impossible  story:  the  sneer  is  always 
easy:  but  our  Theatre  sadly  needs  relief  from  a  burden- 
some, destructive  literature  of  vice  and  folly,  and,  until 
superior  modern  talent  provides  a  dramatic  fabric  in 
which  equal  purity  of  spirit,  romance  of  atmosphere,  and 
beauty  of  feeling  are  displayed  in  a  better  way  and  in 
accordance  with  prosaic  probability,  "Ingomar"  ought 
always  to  receive  a  cordial  welcome. 

"COLINETTE." 

On  April  10,  1899,  Miss  Marlowe  appeared  at  the 
Knickerbocker  Theatre,  acting  the  chief  part  in  a  drama 
called  "Colinette,"  which  had  been  translated  and 
adapted  for  her  use  from  a  French  original,  and  in  her 
performance  of  its  heroine  she  captured  the  public  sym- 
pathy and  approval,  equally  by  her  buoyant  demeanor, 
her  woman-like  tenderness,  and  her  decisive  dramatic 
skill.     The  play  tells  a   romantic   story,   by  means   of 


JULIA    MARLOWE  81 

expeditious  action,  and,  as  a  fabric  of  romance,  it  pos- 
sesses unusual  charm.  It  was  written  by  MM.  Lenotre 
and  Martin,  and  was  originally  produced  at  the  Odeon 
Theatre,  Paris,  in  1898.  The  English  version  was  made 
by  the  late  Henry  Guy  Carleton,  and  it  was  made 
well — being  carefully  and  smoothly  written — and,  as 
presented  by  Miss  Marlowe  and  her  associates,  its  dra- 
matic value  was  enforced  with  brilliant  ability  and  ex- 
cellent effect. 

The  scene  is  laid  in  France,  immediately  on  the 
restoration  of  the  Bourbon  monarchy,  after  Waterloo, 
and  the  story  implicates  a  whimsical  French  monarch,  a 
licentious  and  crafty  chief  of  police,  and  an  imperial 
officer  and  his  merry,  capricious,  affectionate  wife, 
together  with  various  persons  of  minor  moment,  all  of 
whom  are  deftly  tangled  in  a  web  of  intrigue  which  is 
partly  amatory  and  partly  political.  The  officer,  in 
striving  to  save  the  life  of  a  friend,  drifts  into  serious 
peril, — becoming  involved  in  a  Bonapartist  conspiracy 
against  King  Louis  the  Eighteenth,  and  liable  to  be 
executed  for  treason.  The  wife  proves  herself  to  be 
capable  not  only  of  fascination  but  of  heroism.  The 
King  is  made  to  arrange  one  of  those  merry  plots  for 
which,  in  English  history,  King  James  the  First  was 
remarkable,  and  an  escape  is  planned,  for  the  imperilled 
officer,  which  resembles  that  of  the  Earl  of  Nithsdale, 
who,  by  the  aid  of  his  intrepid,  ingenious  wife,  fled  from 
the  Tower  of  London,  in  the  reign  of  King  George  the 


82  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

First,  disguised  as  a  woman.  The  King,  on  being  sup- 
plicated by  the  lady  to  spare  her  husband's  life,  fancies 
that  he  would  like  to  see  her  in  male  attire,  and  there- 
fore he  drops  a  hint,  which  he  surmises  will  be  taken,  as 
to  the  adoption  of  disguises  by  herself  and  her  husband, 
and  thereafter  he  intercepts  them  in  their  flight  and  so 
accomplishes  his  mischievous  though  kindly  purpose. 
The  wicked  minister  is  discomfited,  and  there  is  a  happy 
close  to  a  season  of  danger  and  suspense.  Julia  Mar- 
lowe, as  Colinette,  passing  with  delightful  ease  from 
roguish  humor  to  melting  tenderness,  touched  the  springs 
alike  of  laughter  and  tears,  and  gave  a  performance  of 
singular  flexibility  and  of  exceptionally  artistic  grace, 
such  as  not  only  pleases  while  passing  but  leaves  in 
the  memory  an  abiding  ideal  of  noble  and  lovable 
womanhood. 

"BARBARA     FRIETCHIE." 

The  fiction  that  the  slogan  of  the  MacGregor  was 
heard,  far  off,  by  a  Scottish  lass  at  Lucknow,  just 
before  the  relief,  prompted  Dion  Boucicault  to  write 
his  capital  drama  of  "Jessie  Brown,"  which  was  a  great 
success  in  its  day  and  still  is  pleasurably  remembered. 
The  fiction  that  an  old  woman  displayed  the  National 
flag  in  Fredericktown  and  adjured  the  victorious  Con- 
federates to  shoot  her  gray  head  rather  than  to  fire 
upon  that  banner  prompted  the  late  Clyde  Fitch  to 
write  the  play  of  "Barbara  Frietchie,"  which  was  pre- 
sented on   October  23,   1899,  at  the   Criterion  Theatre, 


From   a  Photograph. 


In  the  Collation  of  the  Author. 

JULIA  MARLOWE 

as 

Colinette,  in  "Colinette." 


JULIA    MARLOWE  83 

and  in  which  Miss  Marlowe  acted  the  heroine  not  as  an 
old  woman,  but  as  an  enthusiastic,  lovely  girl. 

The  play  is  simpleness  itself,  except  for  a  forced  and 
artificial  close.  In  Act  First  Barbara  trifles  a  little  with 
her  lover,  and  promises  to  marry  him,  against  her 
father's  command.  In  Act  Second  she  tries  to  make  a 
runawa3r  match  with  him,  but  is  prevented  by  the  tardi- 
ness of  the  clergyman;  and  she  shoots  and  disables  a 
soldier  who  is  about  to  kill  him.  In  Act  Third  she 
harbors  him  in  her  father's  home,  mortally  wounded, 
and  by  her  pathetic  appeals  and  adroit  management 
protects  him  from  further  injury.  In  Act  Fourth,  after 
watching  all  night  at  his  chamber  door,  she  enters  the 
room  to  find  him  dead,  and  she  takes  a  wild,  despair- 
ing leave  of  his  corpse,  and  repairs  to  a  balcony,  there 
to  wave  the  Star-spangled  Banner  in  the  faces  of  her 
triumphant  countrymen,  then  in  arms  against  it,  and 
as  she  does  this  she  falls  dead, — being  shot  by  an  enraged, 
jealous,  half -crazed  suitor,  whose  military  father 
promptly  orders  the  assassin  to  be  slain.  Those  inci- 
dents do  not  bear  the  test  of  common-sense,  but  they 
are  ingeniously  arranged,  and  they  are  so  displayed  as 
to  cause  cumulative  theatrical  effect. 

There  is  a  touch  of  silliness  at  the  beginning.  The 
Southern  character,  as  denoted  in  the  two  fathers,  has 
been  somewhat  coarsened,  for  the  sake  of  patriotic 
point.  The  ethics  are  mixed.  A  Union  officer,  in  Act 
First,  is  made  to  lie,  in  order  to  connive  at  the  escape 


84  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

of  a  fugitive  Confederate,  of  whose  identity  he  is  aware 
and  with  whose  place  of  concealment  he  is  acquainted. 
A  Southern  girl  is  made  to  promise  marriage  to  a 
Northern  officer,  while  yet  the  war  is  raging  around 
her  home.  Those  devices  are  irrational,  and  so  is  the 
abrupt  introduction  of  the  flag  episode  immediately 
after  the  deathbed, — so  harshly  irrational  as  to  seem 
preposterous.  The  play  was  acted  with  exceptional 
ability,  in  most  of  the  nineteen  characters  that  are  impli- 
cated in  it.  Miss  Marlowe  involuntarily  manifested 
far  greater  dramatic  powers  than  were  essential  for  the 
elucidation  of  anything  in  the  play.  Her  management  of 
a  colloquy  of  sentiment,  in  the  First  Act,  was  delicious. 
She  was  by  turns  arch,  capricious,  tender,  passionate, 
and  almost  tragically  strong.  Her  utterance  of  Bar- 
baras appeal  to  her  father,  for  her  wounded  lover's 
life,  was  spoken  with  exquisite  beauty,  and  her  expres- 
sion of  the  frenzy  of  grief,  on  finding  him  dead,  reached 
as  great  a  height  as  is  possible  to  spoken  pathos:  for 
the  deepest  sorrow  is  silent;  it  does  not  talk,  and  cer- 
tainly it  does  not  wave  flags  and  deliver  speeches  from 
balconies. 

"WHEN     KNIGHTHOOD    WAS    IN    FLOWER." 

Miss  Marlowe  acted  Mary  Tudor,  in  a  play  entitled 
"When  Knighthood  Was  In  Flower,"  at  the  Criterion 
Theatre,  on  January  14,  1901.  That  play  is  a  synopsis 
of  a  crude  and  cumbersome  novel, — a  book  not  easily 


JULIA   MARLOWE  85 

read,  because  of  its  disjointed  mechanism  and  its  forced, 
artificial,  bald,  inflexible  style,  but  one  that  has  the 
merit  of  relevance  to  an  unhackneyed  historical  theme, 
and  one  that  contains  several  well  contrived,  striking 
romantic  incidents.  The  heroine  is  the  Princess  Mary, 
sister  of  King  Henry  the  Eighth  of  England.  The  hero 
is  one  of  that  monarch's  favorites,  Charles  Brandon,  Vis- 
count of  Lisle,  who,  after  the  Battle  of  Flodden  (1514), 
was  made  Duke  of  Suffolk,  and  who  privately  espoused 
the  Princess,  in  Paris,  after  the  death  of  her  husband, 
King  Louis  the  Twelfth  of  France.  There  is  a  slight 
basis  of  fact  for  the  play,  but,  practical^, — and  this  is 
a  merit, — its  story  is  a  fabric  of  fiction. 

Suffolk  and  Mary  Tudor  had  been  lovers;  both  of 
them  were  remarkable  for  personal  beauty;  King  Henry 
the  Eighth  had,  at  one  time,  favored  a  project  of  their 
marriage;  the  marriage  of  the  Princess  to  the  French 
King  was  one  of  mercenary  policy,  prompted  by  the 
subtle  counsel  of  the  Duke  of  Longueville;  the  French 
King  was  prematurely  old  and  infirm,  so  that  he  died, 
aged  53,  within  less  than  three  months  after  his  wed- 
ding; Suffolk  was  an  accomplished  courtier  and  soldier; 
and  King  Henry  was  mollified  as  to  his  sister's  secret 
marriage, — in  part  by  the  persuasions  of  Cardinal  Wol- 
sey, — and  made  to  receive  Suffolk  and  his  bride  and  to 
establish  them  happily  in  an  English  home.  The  private 
marriage  of  Charles  Brandon  and  Mary  Tudor  occurred 
in  1515.    Mary  died  in  1534,  at  the  age  of  thirty-seven; 


86  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

Brandon  in  1545.  Not  much  is  known  about  those 
persons,  but  around  their  shadowy  figures  the  novelist 
wove  his  little  web  of  fiction,  and  from  that  was 
deduced,  in  a  clumsy  manner,  a  series  of  theatrical 
scenes. 

The  novel,  as  in  all  such  cases,  is  preferable  to  the 
play,  and  for  an  obvious  reason:  a  reader  sees  with  the 
eyes  of  the  mind,  a  spectator  with  those  of  the  body. 
In  the  one  case,  if  the  emotions  are  once  excited,  fancy 
repairs  every  discrepancy  and  removes  every  blemish; 
in  the  other,  unless  perfect  dramatic  art  is  made  to 
hallow  every  act  and  word  with  an  irresistible  glamour, 
every  improbability  is  conspicuous,  every  extravagance 
is  emphatic,  and  every  weakness  is  visible.  The  play, 
while  devoid  of  facile  art,  nevertheless  affords  a  few  the- 
atrical opportunities,  and  those  Miss  Marlowe  adroitly 
used.  Her  embodiment  of  Mary  Tudor  crystallized 
into  an  engaging  personality  the  attributes  of  authority, 
impetuosity,  intrepidity,  force  of  will,  gay  caprice  alter- 
nating with  tenderness,  and  ardent  passion  tempered  by 
both  sweetness  and  mirth.  She  presented  a  woman  who 
loves,  and  who,  amid  enemies  and  perils,  has  the  courage 
of  her  love.  It  seems  probable  that  her  impersonation  of 
Mary  Tudor  exhibited  her  ideal  of  womanhood  and  was 
little,  if  at  all,  removed  from  a  revelation  of  her  actual 
self:  it  certainly  was  a  winning  image  of  feminine  variety, 
integrity,  fidelity,  romantic  ardor,  and  ingenuous  charm, 
and  that  was  the  more  remarkable  because  the  person- 


JULIA    MARLOWE  87 

ality  was  revealed  in  association  with  preposterous  inci- 
dents, impossible  persons,  a  caricature  of  manners,  and 
a  lingual  flux  of  folly  and  profanity.  The  triumph  of 
a  fine  actress  trammelled  by  a  halting  play  was  never 
more  conspicuously  illustrated. 

In  the  First  Act, — which  displays  a  posture  of  per- 
sons and  their  relations  to  each  other,  and  so  exhibits 
the  dilemma  in  which  the  lovers  are  to  be  perplexed, 
and  from  which,  ultimately  and  surprisingly,  they  are 
to  be  liberated, — Miss  Marlowe  had  a  scene  of  coquetry, 
wherein  the  Princess  entices  her  lover  by  repelling  him, 
and  in  this  her  acting  was  delicious.  In  the  Second 
Act  she  again  triumphed  by  a  tempestuous  exhibition 
of  the  Tudor  temper.  In  the  Third  Act  the  Princess 
assumes  male  attire,  and  runs  away  with  Brandon,  and 
they  are  captured,  at  Bristol,  by  the  King  of  England 
in  person.  The  manners  of  courts  have  scarcely  ever 
been  delineated  in  a  manner  so  astonishing  as  that  of 
Mr.  Paul  Kester,  the  author  of  this  play.  In  the  Fourth 
Act  the  Princess  is  attacked  by  the  new  King  of  France, 
just  as  the  old  one  has  expired,  and  is  rescued  by 
Brandon,  who  drops  in  through  a  wall.  About  twenty 
characters  are  introduced^-including  King  Henry,  Queen 
Katharine,  Anne  Boleyn,  Jane  Seymour,  and  Wolsey, 
— so  that  the  aristocracy  is  well  represented,  and 
there  is  not  one  that  is  not  a  palpable  caricature.  Miss 
Marlowe's  rich  beauty  and  the  exquisite  sweetness  of 
her  voice — never  more  effective  than  in  her  embodiment 


88  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

of  Mary  Tudor — her  passionate  earnestness,  and  unflag- 
ging vitality  gained  for  this  play  abundant  popularity. 

THE  SOTHERN-MARLOWE  COMBINATION. 
"ROMEO    AND    JULIET." 

A  good  representation  of  any  one  of  the  great  trag- 
edies of  Shakespeare  is  beneficial  to  the  public,  because 
such  a  representation  exerts  an  influence  tending,  for  all 
persons  who  see  it,  to  broaden  the  mental  horizon, 
awaken  sympathy,  rectify  views  of  the  general  life,  and 
admonish  and  aid  in  the  conduct  of  the  individual.  The 
representation  of  "Romeo  and  Juliet"  that  was  given 
with  Mr.  Sothern  as  Romeo  and  Miss  Marlowe  as 
Juliet  was,  in  some  essential  particulars,  emphatically 
good, — a  gain  to  the  public  and  a  credit  to  the  Stage. 

The  rhetorical  Romeo  is,  necessarily,  always  secondary 
to  the  resolute,  executive,  expeditious,  yet  romantic 
Juliet,  who  has  the  courage  of  her  love,  and  who,  after 
the  first  momentary  trepidation,  never  hesitates.  Mr. 
Sothern's  Romeo  was,  practically,  eclipsed  by  Miss 
Marlowe's  Juliet.  The  actress,  indeed,  evinced,  in  this 
personation,  a  purpose  somewhat  to  curb  her  impetuous 
spirit,  abate  her  strength,  and  subdue  herself  into  har- 
mony with  a  languid  artistic  method.  Her  simulation 
of  girlhood  was  studied  and  elaborate,  and  so  was  her 
employment  of  a  "natural"  manner.  Over  the  earlier 
scenes,   accordingly,    a    faint   air   of   solicitude   diffused 


SOTHERN-MARLOWE    COMBINATION     89 

itself,  combined  with  an  aspect  of  self-conscious  mech- 
anism. Moderation  of  tone,  since  it  is  contributive  to 
symmetry  of  ideal,  is  commendable,  but  an  excess  of 
reserve  sometimes  results  in  weakness,  but  even  self- 
repression  could  not  reduce  Miss  Marlowe's  Juliet  to 
the  level  of  Mr.  Sothern's  dapper,  laborious  Romeo. 
A  strong  nature,  once  aroused,  breaks  the  flimsy  fetters 
of  artifice;  and,  whatever  may  be  thought  of  her 
limitations  as  an  actress,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
Miss  Marlowe  is  a  woman  of  commanding  personality, 
emotional  fervor,  and  intellectual  force.  To  such  a 
woman,  it  is  probable  that  mere  girl-life  is  insipid.  Miss 
Marlowe's  impersonation  of  Juliet,,  beautiful  at  certain 
points  and  especially  affecting  in  the  tender  gravity 
of  the  Marriage  Scene,  did  not  strike  fire  till  the 
moment  of  the  agonized  parting  with  Romeo,  but  in 
that  piteous  exigency  it  displayed  the  woman's  heart 
accordant  with  the  poet's  purpose;  and  from  that  point 
it  intermittently  grew  in  volume  of  feeling  and  free- 
dom of  action,  attaining  to  a  climax  of  frenzied  terror, 
in  the  Potion  Scene,  and  ending  with  a  pathetic  simu- 
lation of  the  ecstasy  of  despair,  in  the  scene  of  the 
suicide. 

Remembrance  lingers  on  specific  features  of  its  struct- 
ure, rather  than  on  the  rounded  and  completed  whole. 
The  bewilderment  and  happy  consternation  of  the  first 
meeting  with  Romeo,  and  then  the  vague  presentiment 
of  impending  evil,  a  presentiment  which  vaguely  darkens 


90  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

the  thoughts  of  both  the  lovers,  were  indicated  with  con- 
summate felicity.  The  transition  from  piteous  weakness 
to  desperate  resolve,  when  Juliet  is  confronted  with  the 
alternative  of  exposure  and  abandonment  or  a  criminal, 
hateful  marriage,  was  deftly  and  touchingly  accom- 
plished. The  gradual  comprehension  of  Friar  Law- 
rence's proposed  stratagem  and  plan  of  rescue, — the 
face  showing  the  action  of  the  mind, — was  intensely  dra- 
matic. An  excited  imagination  made  itself  deeply  felt  in 
the  soliloquy  over  the  sleeping-draught,  and  there  was 
pathos  in  the  awakening  and  the  subsequent  suicide,  in 
the  tomb;  but  an  impersonation  of  Juliet, — or  of  any 
other  character, — should  be  so  moulded,  sustained,  and 
expressed  that  it  will  endure  scrutiny  as  a  whole,  and 
not  in  parts,  and  should  be  made  so  symmetrical  and 
authoritative,  the  parts  being  harmoniousty  adjusted, 
and  the  whole  inspirationally  illumined,  that  it  will 
create  an  absolute  illusion,  captivate  the  heart,  and  sub- 
jugate the  mind.  Miss  Marlowe's  Juliet  combined 
physical  beauty,  tender  sensibility,  fervor,  imagination, 
deep  feeling,  the  capacity  of  passion,  and  some  tragic 
force.  The  voice  was  rich,  sweet,  and  sympathetic, 
though  occasionally  pitched  too  low.  The  countenance, 
— sometimes  demure  with  coy  confusion,  sometimes 
sparkling  with  pleasure,  sometimes  ardent  with  emotion, 
and  sometimes  woful  with  grief, — lent  itself  readily  to 
the  expression  of  varied  feeling,  and  manifested  extremes 
of  happiness  and  misery.    The  personality,  on  the  other 


SOTHERN-MARLOWE    COMBINATION     91 

hand,     was     involuntarily     predominant,     unconsciously 
potent,  and  generally  mature,  so  that  the  actress,  though 
sometimes  she  was  merged  in  the  character,  sometimes 
transcended    it.      The    truth    would    seem    to    be    that, 
because  Juliet  is  not  one  of  the  great  women  of  Shake- 
speare, but,  at  her  highest,  remains  only  the  apotheosis 
of    amatory    passion,    her    character    and    experience, 
although  the  one  is  lovely  and  the  other  pathetic,  do  not 
always  and  entirely  awaken  the  soul,  engross  the  active 
sympathy,    and    stimulate    the    practical    faculties    of    a 
woman  of  broad  nature,  mature  condition,  and  intellect- 
ual  strain.     Miss   Marlowe,   as  Juliet,   exhibited   admi- 
rable art,  but  surpassed  the  Juliet  type  of  womanhood; 
she  was  more  massive  than  the  ideal  that  she  strove  to 
embody,  and  her  method  of  adapting  herself  to  it, — a 
method  of  reserve,  restraint,  and  colloquialism, — though 
skilful,    and    sometimes    effective,    did    not    create    and 
sustain  a  complete,  continuous  illusion. 

Sexual  idolatry  of  one  person  for  another, — of  the 
male  for  the  female,  or  the  female  for  the  male, — 
serious  enough,  when  it  occurs,  as  certainly  it  does 
sometimes  occur  in  actual  life,  becomes  pitiable,  on  the 
stage,  unless  the  simulation  of  it  is  reinforced  by  an 
exceptionally  impressive  and  sympathetic  personality. 
Count  Basil,  Claude  Mclnottc,  and  Buy  Bias,  abstractly 
considered,  are  capital  parts,  occurring  in  effective  plays, 
but  it  is  only  an  exceptional  actor  who  can  impersonate 
either  of  them  without  seeming  weak  and  trivial.     The 


92  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

representative  of  Borneo,  in  order  to  convince  and  domi- 
nate, must  possess  personal  fascination,  must  be  able  to 
diffuse  a  glamour  of  enchantment.  Conventional,  routine 
acting, — of  which  all  practised  players  are  readily 
capable, — may  satisfy  the  business  exigency  of  the  hour, 
but  it  dispenses  no  charm,  awakens  no  emotion,  exerts 
no  influence,  causes  no  pleasurable  effect,  and  is  of  no 
value.  The  lovelorn,  dazed,  infatuated,  delirious  con- 
dition of  Romeo  is  a  condition  so  fantastic  to  the  eye 
of  reason  that  the  imitator  of  it  can  make  it  authori- 
tatively impressive  only  by  inherent  manliness  and  the 
charm  of  personal  captivation.  He  must,  in  substance, 
be  a  person  of  innate  and  winning  importance,  and, 
furthermore,  under  the  conditions  imposed  by  the 
tragedy,  he  must  possess  reserves  of  tragic  power.  At 
first  and  during  more  than  a  third  of  the  play  Romeo 
is  spellbound  and  subdued.  At  his  swift  slaughter  of 
Tybalt  he  breaks  the  spell,  and  from  that  point  onward 
he  lives  and  moves  in  a  tumult  of  tragic  emotion.  Mr. 
Sothern,  as  Romeo,  showed  earnest  purpose,  profes- 
sional experience,  refinement,  and  zeal,  but,  in  Romeo 
exactly  as  in  Hamlet,  it  was  insistently  manifest  that 
his  personality  lacked  distinction  and  allurement;  his 
manner  was  finical,  his  vocalism  was  hard  and  dry,  and 
his  method  was  that  of  strenuous,  elaborate,  artificial 
effort.  No  decisive  aptitude  for  tragedy  was  displayed 
by  him,  in  either  temperament,  constitution,  voice,  or 
style.    In  the  obvious  attribute  of  melancholy  his  Romeo 


From  a  Photograph. 
E.    H.    SOTHERN 

as 

Ronn  O, 


Iii  the  Collection  of  the  Author. 
JULIA    MARLOWE 

as 
Juliet. 


in   "Uoinco  and   Juliet." 


SOTHERN-MARLOWE    COMBINATION     93 

was  good,  but  in  the  crucial  situations, — Romeo's  furious 
onset  and  killing  of  Tybalt  and  Romeo's  paroxysm  of 
agony,  in  the  Friar's  cell, — he  was  merely  noisy  and 
vehement.  Taking  the  most  favorable  view  possible  of 
his  performance  of  that  part,  it  could  be  rationally 
regarded  as  little  more  than  another  addition  to  the 
numerous  utilitarian  achievements  of  delusive  ambition 
and  perverted  effort. 

"MUCH     ADO    ABOUT    NOTHING." 

Mr.  Sothern  and  Miss  Marlowe  were  first  seen  as 
Benedick  and  Beatrice  in  a  production  of  "Much  Ado 
About  Nothing"  which  was  effected  at  the  Knicker- 
bocker Theatre,  on  November  1,  1904.  In  the  character 
of  Beatrice  Miss  Marlowe  liberated  her  exuberant 
animal  spirits,  exerted  a  fine  talent  for  raillery,  mani- 
fested, in  a  sweet  and  ingenuous  manner,  feminine 
exultation  in  being  admired  and  beloved,  and  showed  a 
noble  woman's  passionate,  splendid  resentment  of  brutal 
injustice.  In  the  character  of  Benedick  Mr.  Sothern 
personified  bland  good  humor,  whimsical  gayety,  and 
simple,  honest,  straightforward,  manly  feeling.  Both 
of  those  impersonations  were  well  conceived  and  well 
projected,  and  both  evinced  attributes  of  brilliancy.  Mr. 
Sothern's  performance  would  have  been  truer  to  the 
poet's  conception  if  it  had  been  at  some  times  more 
ruminant,  at  some  times  more  deliberate,  at  all  times 
more  elegant,  and  uniformly  kept  in  the  vein  of  light 


94  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

comedy,  until  the  climax,  and  if,  in  the  speaking,  it  had 
not  been  marred  by  occasional  wrong  emphasis,  destruct- 
ive to  various  shades  of  piquant  meaning. 

The  characters  of  Benedick  and  Beatrice  are  not  such 
as  immediately  endear  themselves  to  either  the  readers 
who  investigate  them  or  the  actors  who  rej>resent  them. 
The  comprehension  of  them  which  ensues  on  intimacy 
perceives  in  their  depths  much  that  is  not  discernible 
on  their  surface,  and  awakens  a  whole-hearted  sympathy 
with  their  piquant,  tantalizing,  unconventional,  unique 
personalities.  Both  are  ardent  and  demonstrative  with 
the  ebullient  vigor  of  youth.  Both  are  prone  to  sar- 
casm. Both  are  self-centred  in  personal  conceit.  Both 
dwell  in  a  glowing  exuberance  of  physical  sensation. 
Both  dispense  gibes,  and  both  exult  in  stinging  barbs  of 
insolent  wit.  Neither  has  had  any  experience  of  the 
ministry  of  sorrow.  Beatrice,  born  under  "a  star  that 
danced,"  and  destined  to  "speak  all  mirth  and  no  mat- 
ter," is  so  radically  merry  that  she  wake-s  up  laughing 
because  she  has  been  dreaming  that  she  has  been  sad. 
Benedick  is  "all  mirth,  from  the  crown  of  his  head  to 
the  sole  of  his  foot,  and  what  his  heart  thinks  his  tongue 
speaks."  But  both  Benedick  and  Beatrice  are  sound, 
genuine,  substantial,  worthy,  and  sincere  persons. 
Benedick  is  honest,  brave,  and  noble.  Beatrice  is  pure, 
exalted,  affectionate,  and  true.  Those  mirthful  antago- 
nists, striking  fire  upon  each  other  whenever  they  meet, 
are    only    pretenders    to    flippant    indifference.      Their 


SOTHERN-MARLOWE    COMBINATION     95 

levity  is  superficial.     The  better  they  are  known,   the 
more  they  are  admired. 

Vigorous  youth,  buoyant  spirits,  ample  fire,  large, 
broad,  fine  courtesy  of  manner,  the  dash  that  old  stagers 
were  accustomed  to  call  "gig,"  associated  with  personal 
beauty  and  clear,  fluent,  silvery  elocution,  are  the  main 
attributes  and  faculties  essential  to  victorious  acting  of 
Benedick  and  Beatrice.  Mr.  Sothern's  personality,  as 
Benedick,  was  gossamer  rather  than  substantial,  but 
he  showed  himself  possessed  of  the  stage  tradition  of 
the  part, — the  tradition  transmitted  from,  at  least,  the 
time  of  Charles  Kemble, — and  the  gallant  soldier  that 
he  aimed  to  embody  was  busy,  voluble,  intrepid,  and 
exultant,  completely  satisfied  with  himself,  and  a  con- 
tinually disturbing  force  for  others.  The  verbal  war- 
fare of  Benedick  witli  Beatrice  was  carried  on  in  a 
sprightly  way.  The  complacent  soliloquy  on  marriage 
was  judiciously  spoken,  with  the  unconscious  humor  of 
conceited  sapience.  The  astute,  dubious  vigilance,  the 
puzzled  observance,  and  the  droll  mystification  of  Bene- 
dick, while  he  is  listening  to  the  plotters,  in  the  Garden 
Scene,  were  made  humorously  characteristic  and  expres- 
sive. The  demeanor  in  the  scene  of  the  challenge  was 
appropriately  resolute,  and  the  attitude  of  menacing 
hostility  was  well  maintained.  In  the  Church  Scene,  on 
the  contrary,  the  actor  was  dwarfed  by  the  magnitude 
of  the  situation  and  the  conflict  of  emotions  aroused  by 
it.     The  Church  Scene  of  "Much  Ado"  will  never  again 


96  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

be  what  it  was,  when  Henry  Irving  and  Ellen  Terry 
illumined  and  glorified  it,  nor  is  it  possible  that  Ellen 
Terry's  impersonation  of  Beatrice, — which  was  incarnate 
archness,  playing  over  delicious  kindness  and  imparting 
all  of  charm  that  there  is  in  the  irresistible  fascination 
of  sensuous  womanhood, — will  ever  be  equalled:  but 
Miss  Marlowe's  performance  of  Beatrice  became,  at 
that  supreme  point,  exceptionally  lovely,  and  superb  in 
its  sincerity.  The  great  moment  for  Beatrice  is  that  of 
the  outrageous  insult  to  Hero, — the  pure,  gentle,  blame- 
less girl,  whom  the  stronger  woman  so  entirely  loves. 
All  levity  drops  from  Beatrice  in  an  instant,  and  her 
soul  springs,  full  saturated,  to  the  defence  of  virtue  and 
truth.  Miss  Marlowe's  inherent  personal  nobility  rein- 
forced her  decisive  emotional  power  at  that  moment, 
and  her  demeanor  was  magnificent.  Horror  at  the 
infamy  of  the  accusation  against  Hero  and  detestation 
of  the  insensate  cruelty  with  which  it  is  made  culminated 
in  a  piteous,  furious  frenzy,  half  despair  at  her  helpless 
inability,  and  half  the  abounding  passion  of  fierce  resent- 
ment and  coveted  revenge.  It  is  in  situations  of  this 
kind  that  the  genius  of  Miss  Marlowe  has  been  revealed, 
and  her  fine  performance  of  Beatrice,  particularly  in 
the  Church  Scene,  afforded  a  convincing  demonstration 
of  her  peculiar  aptitude  for  the  passionate,  heroic,  robust 
characters  of  dramatic  fiction. 


SOTHERN-MARLOWE    COMBINATION     97 

"TWELFTH     NIGHT." 

In  the  production  of  "Twelfth  Night,"  which  was 
accomplished  at  the  Knickerbocker  Theatre,  on  Novem- 
ber 13,  1905,  Miss  Marlowe  gave  a  lovely  imper- 
sonation of  Viola;  Mr.  Sothern  acted  Malvolio  in  a 
correct  mood  of  consequential  gravity;  and  an  earnest, 
thoughtful  effort  was  successfully  made,  less  by  their 
associates  than  by  themselves,  to  interpret  this  beauti- 
ful comedy  in  the  right  spirit  of  commingled  poetry 
and  humor.  Miss  Marlowe's  temperament, — romantic, 
tender,  passionate,  yet  self-contained,  pensive  and  sad, — 
seems  to  be  more  harmonious  with  the  character  of  Viola 
than  with  almost  any  other  character  in  Shakespeare. 
Viola  is  the  obverse  of  Rosalind;  for,  while  each  of  them 
is  essentially  woman,  Viola  is  the  more  spiritual,  poetic, 
dreamlike,  ideal;  typifying  patient  devotion  and  the 
silent  self-sacrifice  that  is  prompted  by  perfect  love. 
Rosalind,  born  for  conquest, — brilliant,  dominant, 
superb, — makes  the  first  advance  to  Orlando  (not  an 
unusual  course  with  love-stricken  women  in  general), 
while  Viola  makes  no  endeavor  to  win  Orsino,  but,  on 
the  contrary,  pleads  for  him  with  another  woman,  the 
fair  Olivia,  with  whom  he  is  infatuated.  "She  never 
told  her  love."  The  keynote  of  the  character  is  sounded 
in  that  speech.  There  is  not  a  particle  of  selfishness 
in  Viola.  Loving,  and,  as  she  thinks,  loving  in  vain, 
she  veils  her  grief  beneath  a  sparkling  exterior  of  simu- 


98  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

lated  joy  and  bears  herself  with  buoyant  grace, — not 
only  exerting  the  charm  of  sentiment,  but  diffusing  the 
felicity  of  mirth.  Guileless,  generous,  sincere,  gentle, 
and  gay,  with  no  attribute  of  morbid  egotism,  she  is 
the  perfection  of  simple  loveliness. 

Julia  Marlowe's  dark  beauty,  melodious  and  sym- 
pathetic voice,  and  deep  feeling  held  in  absolute  con- 
trol, made  her  sweetly  actual  in  that  part,  and  com- 
pletely victorious.  No  one  better  knows,  or  more  skil- 
fully employs,  transparency  in  acting, — the  expedient 
of  allowing  a  reserved  emotion  to  reveal  itself,  with 
artistic  effect,  through  an  investiture  of  assumed  manner. 
Her  demeanor  of  apparent  lightness  and  buoyant  indif- 
ference, veiling,  but  not  concealing,  wistful  sadness, — 
in  the  illuminative  colloquy  with  Orsino  concerning 
woman's  love, — while  not  in  the  least  lachrymose,  was 
touchingly  expressive  at  once  of  restrained  passion  and 
submissive  fortitude.  Her  delivery  of  the  beautiful 
speech  about  patient  love's  endurance  was  as  sweetly 
musical  in  accent  as  it  was  faultless  in  appreciative  feel- 
ing. Her  note  of  passion,  in  uttering  Cesario's  apostro- 
phe to  Olivia, — in  which  Viola  shows  her  own  heart, 
while,  under  a  disguise,  she  is  speaking  for  another, — 
was  superbly  strong  and  true.  Her  consternation,  when 
forced  into  the  duel, — her  hesitancy  between  assumed 
assurance  and  overwhelming  trepidation, — was  the  per- 
fect tremor  of  comic  perplexity.  She  acted  with  a  fine 
abandonment,    and    yet    with   the    assured    precision    of 


SOTHERN-MARLOWE    COMBINATION     99 

ripe  experience,  and  she  spoke  pure  English  with  the 
sweet  English  voice.  Study,  thought,  practice,  and 
time  have  done  much  for  that  actress.  It  is  not  probable 
that  the  Stage  will  again  be  adorned  and  illumined  by 
such  an  impersonation  of  Viola  as  was  given  by  Adelaide 
Neilson, — who  was  perfection  in  that  part,  and  who  has 
been  dead  since  1880;  but  while  Julia  Marlowe  remains 
to  play  Viola  this  generation  can  see  and  enjoy  a  per- 
formance that  is  right  in  ideal,  and  symmetrical,  har- 
monious, spirited,  and  cogent  in  execution,  expressive  of 
a  lovely  woman  nature  and  worthy  of  its  fine  poetic 
theme. 

Viola  is  not  impelled  by  passion,  or  by  sentiment,  or 
even  by  curiosity.  She  must  find  a  new  home,  and  she 
must  obtain  subsistence.  Her  first  intent  is  to  serve 
Olivia,  but  that  plan  is  rejected.  She  will  seek  service 
in  the  household  of  the  Duke  Orsino, — for  she  can  sing, 
and  speak  to  him  in  many  sorts  of  music, — and  she 
will  hide  her  sex  and  proceed  in  disguise.  A  happy 
chance  has  saved  her  from  the  sea,  and,  meanwhile,  the 
same  happy  chance  may  also  have  saved  Sebastian,  her 
brother.  She  will  be  hopeful  and  will  go  forward,  and 
the  events  of  her  future  shall  be  trusted  to  propitious 
time.  She  is  a  sweet,  spiritual,  constant  woman,  and 
she  is  blessed  with  that  cheerful  courage  as  to  worldly 
fortune  for  which  good  women  are,  usually,  more 
remarkable  than  men;  and  she  is  young,  handsome, 
winning,   and,    unconsciously,   well  fitted   to  prove  vie- 


100  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

torious.  After  the  action  of  the  piece  has  opened  sev- 
eral comical  situations  are  devised  for  Viola,  together 
with  several  situations  of  serious  perplexity,  which 
mostly  tend  to  create  a  comic  effect  for  the  auditor. 
In  those  situations  Viola's  buoyant  spirit  is  liberated, — 
her  irrepressible  hilarity,  on  being  expected  to  play  the 
part  of  a  masculine  lover,  and  her  feminine  flutter,  when 
confronted  with  the  necessity  of  combat,  being  artfully 
contrasted,  for  the  sake  of  humorous  results.  The  true 
note  of  the  character,  meanwhile,  is  serious.  Viola  is  a 
woman  of  deep  sensibility.  Subtlety  of  perception  nat- 
urally accompanies  deep  feeling.  Viola,  when  as  Cesario 
she  has  caught  the  fancy  of  Olivia,  although  she  may 
view  that  ludicrous  dilemma  archly,  and  even  with  a 
spice  of  innocent  mischief,  feels  a  woman's  sympathy 
with  the  emotions  of  her  sex,  and  her  conduct  toward 
Olivia  is  delicate  and  considerate.  It  is  only  a  woman 
intrinsically  noble  who  can  be  just  toward  her  pros- 
perous rival  in  matters  of  the  heart.  That  character 
Julia  Marlowe  made  actual  in  her  performance. 
Votaries  of  the  theatre  have  seldom  seen  a  picture  as 
beautiful  and  touching  as  she  presented  when  gazing 
on  Orsino  and  listening  to  the  song  "Come  Away, 
Death,"  or  when  she  spoke  the  lines  "She  never  told 
her  love." 

Mr.  Sothern's  impersonation  of  Malvolio  was  the 
best  display  of  a  Shakespearean  character  that  he  has 
given.      Aptitude    of    temperament    reinforced    profes- 


SOTHERN-MARLOWE    COMBINATION     101 

sional  capacity.  Mr.  Sothern  is  a  comedian  and  like- 
wise an  egotist,  and  Malvolio  is  an  egotistical  comedy 
part.  The  great  and  exemplary  performance  of  it  was 
given  by  Henry  Irving  (first  in  London,  with  Ellen 
Terry  as  Viola;  repeated  in  New  York  November  19, 
1884), — a  performance  showing  Malvolio  as  a  form- 
idable, passionate  man,  strikingly  eccentric,  never  a 
buffoon,  but  capable  of  acute  suffering  from  injustice, 
and  capable  also  of  bitter  resentment.  Mr.  Sothern 
followed  that  illustrious  example.  The  character  of 
Malvolio  is  more  elaborately  drawn  than  that  of  any 
other  person  in  the  play,  and  King  Charles  the  Second 
had  good  reason  for  altering  the  title  of  the  piece, — in 
his  storied  copy  of  it, — and  calling  it  by  the  name  of 
its  central  part.  All  the  humor  of  "Twelfth  Night" 
crystallizes  around  the  consequential  Steward,  who,  as 
Olivia  truly  declares,  is  "sick  of  self-love."  Malvolio  is 
serious,  capable,  experienced,  austere, — a  man  to  prompt 
thought  as  well  as  laughter.  He  typifies  indurated  self- 
conceit.  He  is  a  narrow-minded,  complacent,  strutting 
dullard;  vain,  pompous,  and  a  little  crazed  with  the 
overweening  sense  of  his  personal  importance.  Mr. 
Sothern  so  depicted  him, — acting  in  a  vein  of  suitable 
repose,  and  elaborating  the  delineation  with  all  needful 
touches  of  light  and  shade.  The  consistent  preserva- 
tion of  sour  austerit)'  was  the  pervasive  merit  of  his 
performance,— the  steel  chain,  linking  all  its  attributes 
into  a  rounded,  continuous  fabric  of  personality.     The 


102  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

design  of  the  poet,  manifestly,  was  to  expose  and  rebuke 
a  chronic  frailty  of  human  nature,  and  a  good  per- 
formance of  Malvolio  practically  accomplishes,  impresses, 
and  fulfils  that  design.  The  rubicund  Sir  Toby,  the 
silly  Sir  Andrew,  the  quaint  clown,  Feste, — one  of  the 
best  of  Shakespeare's  wise  fools, — the  comic  servant 
Fabian,  and  the  skittish,  mischievous,  bouncing  Maria 
unite  to  entrap  the  vain,  self-deluding  egotist,  and  to 
disgrace  him  by  the  deadliest  of  all  harms,  ridicule.  The 
passage  in  which  he  is  victimized,  by  the  letter  scheme, 
is  deliciously  droll,  and,  when  well  acted,  it  inevitably 
creates  an  effect  of  exuberant  mirth:  but  its  serious 
import  and  substantial  value  are  resident  in  its  effectual 
rebuke  to  the  infirmity  of  self-conceit.  Mr.  Sothern's 
performance  possessed  an  intrinsic  value  far  transcend- 
ing that  of  any  of  his  efforts  in  tragedy.  It  was  a  thor- 
oughly admirable  achievement,  needing  only  a  little 
more  of  age,  solidity,  and  deliberation,  combined  with  a 
judicious,  expressive  style  of  dress.  Malvolio  should 
not  wear  anything  yellow  till  he  puts  on  the  yellow 
stockings,  and  an  actor  who  lacks  height  should  not 
dwarf  his  figure  by  putting  on  voluminous  drapery.  The 
Letter  Scene  was  marred  by  the  silly  transition  of  Sir 
Toby  and  his  comrades  from  side  to  side  of  the  garden. 

As  often  as  "Twelfth  Night"  is  seen  or  read  the 
enthusiast  of  Shakespeare  muses  on  its  unmatched  excel- 
lence as  an  artistic  composite  of  character,  sentiment, 
humor,   and  poetry,  and  its  decisive  intimation  of  the 


SOTHERN-MARLOWE    COMBINATION     103 

inventive  faculty  and  affluent  eloquence  of  a  great  poet. 
No  comedy  contains  more  of  exemplary  human  nature, 
or  a  greater  wealth  of  pure,  sweet,  delicious  feeling,  or 
a  freer  range  and  sweep  of  vigorous,  diversified,  fluent 
style.  Its  story  of  adventure  and  romantic  love  is  con- 
tinuously interesting;  its  flexible  dialogue  is  delicious; 
its  comic  fable, — relative  to  the  allurement  and  discom- 
fiture of  the  absurd  Malvolio, — is  ingenious  and  irresisti- 
bly ludicrous;  and  its  fabrics  of  original  character  are 
superb.  Malvolio,  Maria,  the  Clown  (Feste),  Sir  Toby 
Belch,  and  Sir  Andrew  Aguecheek  are,  exclusively, 
Shakespeare's  creations;  and,  if  he  took  Orsino,  Olivia, 
and  Viola  out  of  an  old  romance,  he  completely  trans- 
figured them  in  the  process  of  conveyance.  The  woful 
gloom  of  hopeless  love  has  not  been  better  portrayed 
than  in  the  exposition  of  Orsino's  passion  for  Olivia,  nor 
is  there,  in  any  play,  a  more  natural  and  expressive 
alternation  of  sorrow  with  joy  and  sobriety  with  mirth. 
Shakespeare's  dramatic  art  operates,  in  this  comedy, 
with  an  irresistibly  felicitous  charm  of  indolent,  drifting 
ease.  His  touch  is  light.  His  careless  mood  vacillates 
between  tenderness  and  joy.  The  scene  is  frequently 
shifted,  but  the  changes  are  made  smoothly  and  in  a 
natural  sequence.  The  breezy  style  varies  from  verse 
to  prose  and  from  prose  to  verse  but  always  in  harmony 
with  the  changes  of  theme.  The  two  households, — one 
of  Orsino,  the  other  of  Olivia, — are  deftly  suggested  and 
made   clearly  pictorial   of  diversified,   interesting   char- 


104  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

actcr  and  representative  experience.  Over  both  the 
houses  there  is  an  air  of  opulence,  romance,  and  poetry, 
and  yet  of  modernity  and  fact.  In  the  palace  of  Orsino 
that  prince  is  suffering  from  the  melancholy  of  hopeless 
love.  In  the  hall  of  Olivia  that  cloistered  beauty  is 
suffering  from  grief  for  her  dead  brother  and  father. 
At  the  side  of  Orsino  stands  the  disguised  Viola, — love- 
lorn for  her  master's  favor.  At  the  side  of  Olivia  stands 
the  saturnine,  sell- worshipful  Malvolio,  nursing  his  con- 
ceit that  the  great  lady  may  yet  become  his  wife. 
Around  those  serious  figures  eddy  the  vinous  revels  of 
stout  Sir  Toby  Belch,  the  puling  capers  of  vapid  Sir 
Andrew  Aguccheek,  the  antics  of  mischievous  Maria,  and 
the  romance  of  the  mystified  Sebastian.  It  is  a  picture 
in  little  of  the  way  of  all  things.  Love  is  blind  and  will 
not  see  its  own  comfort,  which  is  close  at  hand.  Self- 
opinion  makes  itself  a  fool,  and  comes,  amid  inextinguish- 
able laughter,  to  utter  disgrace.  Frolic  and  revel 
sparkle,  for  a  moment,  and  turn  to  nothing;  irrational 
Fortune  scatters  her  favors  wholly  without  logic;  truth 
and  devotion  are  rewarded  by  chance;  and  motley  smiles 
over  all.  The  comedy  is  a  profusion  of  wild  flowers — 
a  medley  of  whimsicality,  drollery,  sentiment,  and  grace, 
with  abundance  in  it  of  kindly  satire  and  genial  phi- 
losophy, to  make  it  enjoyable  while  it  is  passing  and  to 
enshrine  it  in  loving  remembrance  after  it  has  gone. 


SOTHERN-MARLOWE    COMBINATION     105 

"JOHN    THE     BAPTIST." 

Mr.  Sothern  and  Miss  Marlowe  appeared  on  January 
21,  1907,  at  the  Lyric  Theatre,  in  an  English  version  of 
the  German  play  of  "Johannes,"  by  Hermann  Suder- 
mann.  The  English  version,  called  "John  the  Baptist," 
is  comprised  in  six  acts,  and  about  forty  persons  are 
implicated  in  its  colloquies.  The  prominent  characters 
are  John,  Salome,  Herodias,  and  Herod  Anti-pas.  Most 
of  the  essential  dialogue  passes  among  those  four 
speakers,  and  all  of  the  essential  action  might  readily 
be  comprised  within  two  or  three  scenes.  The  inter- 
locutors, in  general,  are  explanatory  feeders.  Among 
them  they  contrive  to  make  it  known  that  Herodias, 
Philip's  wife,  has  run  away  from  Philip,  with  their 
daughter  Salome,  in  order  to  marry  Philip's  brother, 
Herod,  Tetrarch  of  Galilee,  and  that  the  Hebrew  popu- 
lation of  Jerusalem,  or  some  part  of  it,  led  by  John  the 
Baptist,  is  disgusted  with  that  matrimonial  alliance  and 
is  incensed  against  the  Tetrarch  for  making  it.  On  that 
basis  of  circumstance  the  movement,  such  as  it  is,  pro- 
ceeds.    It  is  confused  and  slow. 

John,  in  particular, — who  thinks  that  he  has  been 
commissioned  to  regulate  all  things,  punish  all  sinners, 
and  "guide  with  a  rod  of  iron," — objects  to  the 
Tetrarch's  second-hand  nuptials,  and,  on  being  privily 
brought  into  the  presence  of  Salome  and  Herodias,  he 
frees  his  mind  in  explicit  language,  snubs  the  daughter, 


100  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

and    defies    the    mother:    "Harlot    is    your    name,"    he 
remarks,   to   Herodias,   "and   adulteress   stands   written 
on  your  forehead."     One  of  those  females,  however,  is 
secretly  enamoured  of  John  (a  fact  the  more  remarkable 
since,  manifestly,  the  prophet  is  ignorant  of  the  use  of 
soap),  while  both  are  conscious  of  a  mysterious,   com- 
manding   power    in    him;    for    which    reason,    although 
Herodias  nearly  explodes  with  fury,  he  is  allowed  to 
depart  unharmed.     Soon  afterward  Herod  and  his  bride 
appear  in  public,  and  the  Hebrew  mob,  rallying  round 
John,  undertakes  to  pelt  them  with  stones;  but  John, 
who  has  just  heard  that  he  ought  to  love  his  enemies, 
falters  at  the  crisis,  drops  his  missile,   and  is   arrested 
and  put  in  jail.     There  Salome  privately  visits  the  saint, 
and  astounds  him  with  such  freedom  of  speech  as  might 
startle  even  a  veteran  sinner.     "I  have  stolen  into  the 
twilight,"  says  that  peculiar  young  woman,  "to  seek  thy 
face  and  the  light  of  thy  eyes.     I  have  made  my  couch 
lovely  with  many-colored  tapestries  of  Egypt.     I  have 
strewn  it  with  myrtle,  aloes,  and  cinnamon.     Come,  let 
us  wait  on  love  till  the  morn.     My  companions   shall 
watch  on  the  threshold,  and  greet  the  dawn  with  their 
harps."      This   proves   to   be   too   much   for   the   saintly 
patience.      'Thou  art  sin,"  says  John,  "go  'way!"     And 
Salome   goes — mad  as   a  hornet,   and   more   dangerous. 
That  is  the  only  really  dramatic  point  in  the  play. 

Intimation  has  been  conveyed  that   Uncle  Herod, — 
who,  like  old  Gobbo,  "doth  something  smack," — has  cast 


SOTHERN-MARLOWE    COMBINATION      107 

his  thoughtful  eye  upon  the  budding  charms  of  young 
Salome,  and  that  appreciative  damsel,  noticing  this,  has 
caused  her  fond  mother  "grave  uneasiness"  by  encour- 
aging the  old  Tetrarch  with  expressive  glances.  The 
rest  is  easy.  The  two  women  (whether  they  under- 
stand each  other  or  not,  and  presumably  they  do)  now 
have,  practically,  a  common  ground  of  malevolence. 
Herodias  beguiles  Herod.  A  saltatory  entertainment  is 
devised.  Salome  demurely  assumes  an  air  of  vestal  inno- 
cence, the  better  to  exert  a  completely  infernal  fascina- 
tion, and  the  head  of  the  unfortunate  John  is  purchased, 
— according  to  clear  denotement, — with  the  body  of  that 
feline  wench.  An  effort  is  made,  incidentally,  to  swathe 
this  odoriferous  theme  with  a  mystical,  religious  atmos- 
phere, to  make  it  impressive  by  an  investiture  of  dusky 
ravines  and  dimly  lighted  wastes  of  barren,  rocky  land, 
and  to  disguise  a  dishevelled  fabric  of  prurience  and 
fanaticism  by  suggestion  of  a  haunted  environment. 
John  is  displayed  as  hearing  voices  and  the  flapping  of 
wings,  and  as  being  forever  in  expectation  of  somebody 
who  is  "coming" — like  "the  Campbells"  in  the  old  song; 
but  that  extraneous  embellishment  is  extremely  thin, 
for  Johns  alternations  of  forlorn  bewilderment  and 
rhapsodical  ecstasy — intrinsically  and  apart  from  Mr. 
Sothern's  occasionally  felicitous  display  of  them — are 
only  suggestive  of  pitiable  or  ludicrous  dementia,  while, 
aside  from  two  or  three  verbose  denunciatory  speeches, 
most  of   his    remarks   have   no   more   relevance   to   the 


108  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

subject  of  the  play  than  those  of  the  old  woman  in 
"David  Copperfield,"  who,  at  long  intervals  and  without 
ostensible  reason,  declares  that  "there's  mile-stones  on 
the  Dover  road." 

The  drift  and  substance,  accordingly,  of  this  repulsive 
drama, — which  is  loose  in  its  joints  and  written  in  a 
flabby,  disordered,  moon-struck  style, — can  be  denoted 
in  a  few  words.  All  its  preparation,  which  is  laborious, 
protracted,  and  exceedingly  tiresome,  leads  to  a  situation 
in  which  a  wanton  woman  can  perform  a  lascivious 
dance,  in  the  presence  of  a  lewd  despot,  in  order  to 
inflame  his  passions  and  so  entirely  to  enslave  him  that 
he  will  become  a  rabid  monster  of  lust  and  cruelty,  and, 
in  that  loathsome  and  frightful  condition,  will  authorize 
and  permit  a  barbarous  murder,  for  the  gratification  of 
the  woman's  bloodthirsty  hatred.  The  despot,  Herod, 
is  the  old,  familiar  type  of  imperial  brute  with  which 
ancient  history  teems.  The  dancing  woman,  Salome, 
is  an  incipient  drab  of  the  most  detestable  order,  being 
not  only  libidinous,  but  ferocious,  crafty,  malignant,  and 
cruel,  beneath  an  exterior  of  ingenuous  sweetness  and 
girlish  grace.  The  victim  is  the  half-crazed  fanatic, 
John.  That  crack-brained  rantipole  (for-  such  he  is, 
in  the  drama,  and  nothing  else)  has  contemptuously 
repulsed  the  advances  of  the  salacious  Salome,  and,  as 
a  consequence,  has  incurred  her  implacable  resentment 
and  hideous  animosity.  Salome's  dance  is  the  prelude 
to  her  demand  for  the  head  of  John,  served  upon  a 


SOTHERN-MARLOWE    COMBINATION      109 

golden  dish  (called,  in  Matthew  xiv,  8,  where  the  inci- 
dent is  found,  "a  charger").  To  augment  the  horror 
of  the  whole  detestable  situation,  the  play  shows 
Herodias, — mother  of  Salome  and  adulterous  and 
incestuous  wife  of  Herod, — as  subtly  intimating  that 
her  husband  may  also  possess  her  daughter,  and  as 
planning  her  daughter's  particular  form  of  revenge 
and  prompting  her  to  its  fulfilment.  The  drama  con- 
tains two  or  three  situations  in  which  actors  can  show 
their  skill,  but  all  that  a  spectator  can  derive  from  a 
sight  of  "John  the  Baptist"  is  illustrative  confirmation 
(which  nobody  needs)  of  Congreve's  always  misquoted 
couplet : 

"Heaven  has  no  rage  like  love  to  hatred  turned, 
Nor  Hell  a  fury  like  a  woman  scorned." 

That  being  all,  this  drama  cannot  be  deemed  credit- 
able to  either  the  author  who  made  it  or  the  actors  who 
produced  it.  There  is,  or  should  be,  no  place  in  art 
for  the  exposition  of  amatory  mania  or  the  analysis  of 
bestial  propensity.  No  influence  could  be  more  per- 
nicious than  one  that  augments  consideration,  already 
excessive,  of  overfreighted  animal  instincts  and  low 
sensual  pursuits.  Society  hears  too  much  about  "love" 
and  too  little  about  things  that  are  far  more  important — 
namely,  justice,  duty,  and  honor.  "John  the  Baptist" 
is  a  radically  immoral  play,  notwithstanding  its  elab- 
orate  sanctimonious   trappings    of   pious   pretence,    and 


110  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

the  better  it  is  acted  the  more  harm  it  will  always  do — 
by  directing  the  general  mind  upon  evil  imagery.  Mr. 
Sothern  and  Miss  Marlowe  produced  it  with  an  ample 
and  judicious  cast  and  with  picturesque  scenery,  and 
their  interpretation  of  it  was  earnest,  vital,  vigorous, 
replete  with  warmth  and  color,  and  well  calculated  to 
blind  judgment  as  to  its  actual  character.  As  an  actor, 
Mr.  Sothern,  playing  John,  appeared  in  it  to  uncom- 
mon advantage,  for  his  ideal  of  the  ascetic  enthusiast 
was  imaginative,  and  his  portrayal  of  that  ideal,  though 
marred  at  supreme  moments  of  invective  by  puny  and 
finical  gesture,  was  fraught  with  sincerity,  authority, 
and  the  requisite  wild  fervor  of  religious  delirium.  He 
lacked  height  to  be  invariably  imposing,  and  his  zeal, 
though  ardent  and  sustained,  while  it  elevated  the 
prophet,  did  not  dignify  the  prophet's  chattering  lunes: 
but  Mr.  Sothern  especially  succeeded  in  conveying  a 
pathetic  impression  of  a  haunted,  disordered  mind,  now 
exultant  in  ecstatic  certainty  of  divine  ordination,  and 
now  darkly  vacillant  and  forlorn  in  a  mist  of  doubt. 
Gibbon,  in  that  magnificent  chapter  of  his  great  history 
which  describes  the  hermits  and  anchorets  of  early  Chris- 
tianity, happily  designates  those  ascetics  as  persons  who 
"obeyed  and  abused  the  precepts  of  the  Gospel"  and 
were  "inspired  by  the  savage  enthusiasm  that  represents 
God  as  a  tyrant  and  man  as  a  criminal."  That,  sub- 
stantially, is  the  character  of  John,  as  indicated  by 
Mr.  Sudermann  and  shown  by  Mr.  Sothern. 


SOTHERN-MARLOWE    COMBINATION      111 

It  was  not  for  John,  however,  that  the  play  was  made, 
but  for  Salome.  Mr.  Sudermann's  mind  runs  toward 
abnormal  and  odious  themes,  and  it  was  natural  that  he 
should  select  this  one,  long  a  favorite  with  morbid 
votaries  as  well  of  the  brush  as  of  the  pen.  Miss  Mar- 
lowe, in  her  embodiment  of  Salome,  appeared  to  sup- 
pose that  she  was  presenting  a  lovely,  alluring,  unso- 
phisticated young  woman,  inclined  indeed  to  coquetry, — 
though  not  more  so  than  is  natural  and  usual  with  all 
pretty  girls, — and  innocent  of  evil  purpose.  At  all 
events,  the  actress  suffused  her  impersonation  with  an 
arch,  demure,  pouting,  bland,  childlike  simplicity,  and, 
while  showing  Salome  as  a  handsome  young  animal, 
without  either  heart  or  conscience,  but  exultant  in  the 
sensuous  enjoyment  of  abounding  physical  life,  contrived 
to  make  the  girl  appear  both  piquant  and  romantic. 
Much  of  that  result  was  due  to  the  personal  charm  of 
the  actress — her  dark  eyes,  rich  voice,  and  romantic 
aspect,  at  once  bright  and  sad.  With  her,  as  it  does 
with  others,  personality  operated,  independently  of  art. 
The  art,  nevertheless,  was  present,  and  it  was  nothing  less 
than  wicked  in  the  application  of  its  proficiency.  The 
character,  being  that  of  a  carnal  wanton,  without  sense 
of  iniquity  or  capability  of  shame,  ought  not  for  a 
moment  to  entice  sympathy  or  command  admiration; 
yet  her  audiences  were  blinded  to  its  depravity  and  capti- 
vated by  its  grace,  because  of  a  soft  allurement,  involun- 
tary in  the  actress,  that  made  it  irresistibly  sympathetic. 


112  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

Some  of  the  speeches  made  by  this  girl  are  so  sala- 
cious as  to  be  shocking:  "I  am  not  afraid  of  any  man" 
(so  runs  the  current  of  her  remarks)  ;  "they  please  me 
just  as  they  are."  .  .  .  "I  am  not  displeasing  to  my 
uncle  Herod.  I  have  noticed  that  he  casts  sly  glances 
at  me.  When  my  mother  scolds  me,  I  know  how  to 
vex  her."  ...  "I  am  a  flower  of  Sharon  and  a  rose 
in  the  valley.     If  my  beloved  comes  not  into  his  garden 

and  eats  not  of "  .  .  .     "You   wild  man   from  the 

deserts  of  Judea,  the  hatred  flashed  from  your  eyes  will 
not  consume  me.  I  will  kindle  another  fire  in  them, 
lovely  and  mournful,  like  my  dreams,  when  the  perfume 
of  the  narcissus  is  shed  around  my  head  at  night." 
There  is  much  more  of  the  same  kind  of  erotic  fustian, 
but,  as  spoken  by  Miss  Marlowe,  it  sounded  like  poetry. 
The  careless  avowal  of  Salome  that  she  has  had  her 
waiting  woman  murdered,  from  mere  caprice  of  jealousy, 
caused  no  abhorrence.  Her  delight  in  the  idea  of 
demanding  Johns  head,  as  the  price  of  her  dance, 
though  grisly  and  hideous,  caused  no  shudder.  "I  will 
glow  above  him,"  she  says,  "like  a  cluster  of  ripening 
grapes."  The  dance,  at  the  close,  for  so  large  and 
solid  a  woman,  was  surprisingly  graceful.  The  idea  is 
that  the  dancer  shall  perform  a  series  of  gyrations, 
becoming  more  and  more  voluptuous,  till,  having  cast 
aside,  one  by  one,  no  less  than  seven  veils,  she  drops 
before  Herod,  with  the  upper  part  of  her  person  naked. 
That  was  not  literally  done,  but  it  might  just  as  well 


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SOTHERN-MARLOWE    COMBINATION      113 

have  been,  for  the  literal  effect  was  produced:  and  there- 
after John  is  led  forth  to  be  slain,  and  Salome  rushes 
after  him,  supposedly  to  continue  her  dance,  with  his 
head  on  a  dish, — from  which  charming  exercise  she  stag- 
gers in  and  collapses  in  a  faint.  The  exhibition,  essen- 
tially, was  barbarous  and  loathsome.  Miss  Marlowe 
showed  remarkable  skill  in  her  management  of  it,  and 
vindicated  her  art  although  she  could  not  redeem  the 
horror  of  her  subject. 

REDEEMING    GRACE. 

Mr.  Sothern  and  Miss  Marlowe  having,  in  their 
pious  souls,  been  deeply  moved  by  the  irreverence,  not 
to  say  the  levity,  with  which  their  sacrificial  presentment 
of  Herr  Sudermann's  sweet-scented  Biblical  drama  of 
"John  the  Baptist"  was  received,  in  some  directions, 
presently  trickled  into  print  to  explain  and  vindicate 
their  design  in  producing  that  trash.  Those  missionaries 
of  morality,  revealing  a  copious  reserve  of  religious  zeal, 
— not  till  then  suspected, — had  made  discoveries  of 
extraordinary  value.  Miss  Marlowe's  Biblical  researches, 
for  example,  had  enabled  her  to  ascertain  that  Salome 
was  merely  a  naughty  child,  a  sweet  young  thing,  who, 
approaching  John  the  Baptist  with  a  verbal  tender  of 
her  "young  body,"  was  only  "on  the  anxious  seat,"  and 
desirous  to  learn  about  "the  second  birth,"  while  Mr. 
Sothern's  explorations  of  Scripture  and  Sudermann 
had  determined  that  Salome  and  John  are  the  celestial 


114  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

bearers  of  "a  message  of  love,"  commissioned  to  instruct 
the  community  that  love  is  "not  altogether  a  lascivious 
and  sensual  matter,"  but  really  a  good  thing.  That 
being  the  case,  it  became  obvious  that  a  great  day  had 
dawned  for  the  play-going  public, — a  benighted  herd  of 
lost  and  wandering  sheep,  greatly  requiring  to  be 
enfolded,  instructed,  and  made  to  understand  what 
"love"  is,  and  what  a  blessed  privilege  it  could  command 
in  having  Herr  Sudermann,  Mr.  Sothern,  and  Miss 
Marlowe  to  enforce  the  new  truth  that  "love  is  not 
altogether  sensual."  Silence,  in  the  presence  of  such  a 
sacred  opportunity,  would  have  been  cruel.  Mr.  Sothern 
had  faltered  a  little,  fearing  that  the  multitude  was  not 
quite  sufficiently  enlightened  to  receive  and  absorb  the 
celestial  benefits  that  he  and  the  gracious  Miss  Mar- 
lowe were  wishful  to  bestow,  but  several  clergymen 
in  Pittsburgh, — that  stronghold  of  holiness, — had  encour- 
aged him  to  persevere,  to  hope  for  better  things,  and 
he  would  not  be  daunted  in  the  good  work.  "This  love 
matter,"  he  asseverated,  ought  really  "to  be  explained," 
and  there  was  no  place  as  good  as  the  Theatre  for  the 
preaching  of  sermons.  He  declared  (generous  soul!) 
that  he  would  preach  them,  and  that  Miss  Marlowe 
likewise  would  exhort  the  populace, — she  too  having 
received  a  light  from  on  high.  Mr.  Sothern  did  not 
disguise  the  opinion  that  Miss  Marlowe's  Salome  dance 
was,  perhaps,  a  little  middle-aged  as  a  saltatory  feat, 
but  he  deemed  it  an  edifying  performance  and  calcu- 


SOTHERN-MARLOWE    COMBINATION      115 

lated  to  do  wonders  in  the  service  of  morality;  and 
finally  he  avowed  (and  in  this  he  was  not  far  wrong) 
that  after  you  had  seen  "John"  a  few  times  you  would 
feel  that  it  is  as  "natural  as  an  exposition  of  a  man 
'swatting'  you  in  the  eye."  These  little  gems  of  thought 
which  actors  contribute  to  the  public  information  are 
useful  in  many  ways,  especially  as  side-lights  upon 
the  mental  condition  of  their  authors. 

The  singular  conduct  of  Mr.  Sothern  and  Miss  Mar- 
lowe, in  producing  such  a  concoction  as  "John  the  Bap- 
tist," and  the  still  more  singular  remarks  that  they  sub- 
sequently published  concerning  it  afford  a  notable 
episode  in  theatrical  history  on  which  a  word  of  serious 
comment  is  justifiable  and  necessary.  Mr.  Sothern  and 
Miss  Marlowe  are  elderly  persons.  They  arrived  long 
ago  at  the  age  of  discretion.  They  knew  perfectly  well 
the  value  of  all  that  they  do  and  say  on  the  stage. 
They  knew  that  the  play  of  "John  the  Baptist"  depends 
on  a  lascivious  dance.  They  knew  that  it  is  an  immoral 
play,  despite  its  pretence  of  religious  import.  They 
knew  that,  if  they  knew  anything.  Their  pretence  on 
the  subject  was  humbug.  Extenuation  of  the  character 
of  Salome  is  about  as  sensible, — and  they  were  perfectly 
well  aware  of  it, — as  the  extenuation  was  that  was 
attempted  of  Mrs.  Brownrigg,  the  murderer,  in  London, 
of  whom  Canning  wrote,  in  the  "Anti-Jacobin,"  in  his 
satirical  elegy,  that 


110  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

"She  whipped  two  female  'prentices  to  death, 
And  hid  them  in  the  coal-hole." 

WHITEWASH. 

"How  can  any  one  think  that  the  Salome  of  Sudermann  is 
shocking?  .  .  .  When  for  the  first  time  she  dances  before  men 
her  one  motive,  her  one  desire,  is  to  please  Herod  and  his  guests 
by  doing  Iilt  prettiest.  Like  most  girls,  she  has  eyes  for 
men.  .  .  .  She  doesn't  believe  that  John  will  lose  his  head. 
Her  only  purpose  is  to  make  him  realize  her  power — to  be  able 
to  save  the  man  who  has  scorned  her.  .  .  .  She  wishes  to 
learn.    .    .    ." — Julia  Marlowe. 


Gracious  Julia,  weary  nations 

Long  have  waited  for  the  day 
When  from  tarnished  reputations 

All  the  "tar"  should  drop  away: 
Now  at  last  it  comes,  in  glory, 

Proudly  ushered  in  by  you, 
With  the  wrecks  of  ancient  story 

All  made  over,  "good  as  new." 

II. 

Hitherto  considered  grim  and 

Subject  only  for  police, 
Sweet  Salome,  full  of  whim  and 

Girlish,  gay,  demure  caprice, 
Rectified  by  you,  emerges 

White  as  Mary's  little  lamb, 
And,  made  cleanly  by  your  purge,  is 

Blameless  as  the  peaceful  clam. 


SOTHERN-MARLOWE    COMBINATION      117 

III. 

Never  since  Eve  ate  the  apple 

Was  there  such  a  need  abroad 
For  a  valiant  mind  to  grapple 

With  the  immemorial  fraud — 
Fraud  that  smirches  fair  Brinvilliers 

And  withholds  the  verdant  bays 
That  would  otherwise  be  still  yours, 

Chaste  and  virtuous  Katy  Hayes! 

IV. 

Falter  not  in  your  grand  mission ! 

Gracious  Julia,  oh,  be  strong ! 
Hauling  up  from  their  perdition 

Saintly  souls   who've  suffered  long: — 
Good  old  Cenci,  tender  father, 

Much  inclined  to  playful  whim, 
And  great  Valentinian,  rather 

Prone  to  jokes  mistelling  him. 

V. 

Messalina,  blithe  Lucrezia, 

Whom  so  much  we  ought  to  rue, — 
Beauties   of  the   ancient  Geisha, — 

And  old  Torquemada,  too, 
Jezebel  and  poor  Uriah's 

Pretty  wife — they're  all  your  own, 
And,  to  surfeit  your  desires, 

There's  the  Queen  of  Naples,  Joan. 

VI. 

But,  O,  Julia  !  gracious  Julia ! 

Please  consider  for  a  while 
That  your  sentiments  peculiar 

Cause  your  cynic  friend  to  smile: 


118  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

And,  although  you  are  "a  corker," 

With  your  many  lovely  lures, 
He  must  gently  murmur  "Walker"! 
When  he  hears  such  talk  as  yours. 

"THE     SUNKEN     BELL." 

In  the  fantastic  composition  called  "The  Sunken 
Bell,"  which  was  resuscitated  at  the  Lyric  Theatre,  on 
February  5,  1907  (Mr.  Sothern  first  produced  that 
play  at  the  Knickerbocker  Theatre,  March  26,  1900, 
with  Virginia  Ilarned — then  Mrs.  Sothern, — as  Rauten- 
delein),  Mr.  Sothern  and  Miss  Marlowe  impersonated 
characters  that  typify,  or  seem  to  do  so,  spiritual  aspi- 
ration, on  the  one  hand,  and  joyous  physical  vitality 
of  all  the  appetites,  on  the  other.  The  piece  is  a  the- 
atrical allegory,  and  by  some  judges  it  is  thought  to  be 
freighted  with  prodigious  meaning.  To  the  uninitiated 
observer  it  appears  to  glance  at  human  life  as  a  struggle 
between  good  and  evil,  or  else  between  vulgar  common- 
place and  celestial  desire,  and  to  mean, — in  as  far  as  it 
can  be  understood  to  mean  anything, — that  the  struggle 
is,  necessarily  and  inevitably,  attended  by  trouble  and 
terminated  by  disappointment  and  misery.  Viewed  as 
an  allegory  it  probably  possesses  intense,  tremulous, 
absorbing  interest  for  persons  who  yearn,  gurgitate,  and 
gaze  fixedly  into  space,  listening  meanwhile  to  the  whir 
of  cerebral  wheels;  persons  who  are  dissatisfied  with 
themselves  and  everything  around  them ;  persons  who  are 
convinced  that  the  universe  ought  to  be  made  over,  on 


SOTHERN-MARLOWE    COMBINATION      119 

a  new  plan ;  that  property  ought  to  be  divided  among  the 
populace  every  Saturday  night;  and,  especially,  that 
"love"  ought  to  be  relieved  of  the  extremely  inconvenient 
shackles  with  which,  at  present,  in  civilized  society,  its 
proceedings   are — to   a   slight   extent — impeded. 

As  a  play,  "The  Sunken  Bell"  is  a  dreary,  foggy, 
puerile  exposition  of  the  discontent  that  is  naturally 
sequent  on  an  ill-assorted  marriage.  Heinrich  and 
Magda,  husband  and  wife,  resident  in  a  mountainous 
region  populated  with  bovine  inhabitants  who  subsist  on 
goat's  milk  and  talk  platitude,  are  inharmonious.  Hein- 
rich's  head  is  in  the  clouds,  while  Magda  s  mental 
apparatus  confines  itself  to  the  pantrjr.  Itautendelein, 
an  elfin  person,  encourages  Heinrich  to  revolt  against 
prosaic  circumstances  and  to  ascend  aerial  stairs.  The 
result  is  a  domestic  catastrophe  and  general  disintegra- 
tion. Mr.  Sothern  played  Heinrich  and  Miss  Marlowe 
played  the  alluring  Elf,  and  both  of  them  contributed 
to  a  considerable  waste  of  time.  All  that  the  actors  in 
Sudermann's  fabrication  contrived  to  convey  could  have 
been  said  in  ten  minutes,  if  Miss  Marlowe,  with  her 
sweet  voice  and  earnest  delivery,  would  have  recited 
Longfellow's  poem  of  "Excelsior."  The  admirers  of 
Mr.  Sothern  and  Miss  Marlowe,  naturally,  could  not 
repress  a  feeling  of  regret  that  those  fortunate  players, 
so  rich  in  opportunity,  should  have  turned  aside  from 
their  right  path  to  exploit  such  flatulent  authors  as 
Sudermann,  Hauptmann  and  Rapagnetta  of  the  Annun- 


120  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

ciation,    and    become    the    servants    of    Fad    and    the 
apostles  of  Fudge. 

In  the  complex,  obscure,  inscrutable  medley  of  trite 
domestic  detail,  fairy  pranks,  and  transcendental  flum- 
mery called  "The  Sunken  Bell"  both  of  them  acted 
with  a  sincerity  that  was  almost  pathetic,  considering 
the  frequently  ludicrous  situations  that  they  were  com- 
pelled to  animate  and  the  interminable  strains  of  versi- 
fied fustian  that  they  were  compelled  to  deliver.  Miss 
Marlowe  was  uncommonly  beautiful  to  see  and  sweetly 
melodious  to  hear,  although  often  no  listener  could 
understand  what  she  said  or  what  she  was  talking  about. 
The  special  merit  of  her  performance  was  its  suggestive 
impartment  of  a  dryad  joy  and  freedom.  Mr.  Sothern 
created  a  brilliant  dramatic  effect,  for  one  fleeting 
moment,  when  the  death-stricken  Heinrich  is  caused, 
in  the  scene  of  delirium  in  his  home,  to  leap  into  sudden 
and  abounding  health:  and  his  delivery  of  a  long 
rhythmical  oration  on  life,  death,  and  immortality, 
together  with  contingent  remainders,  was  marked  by 
fine  breadth  of  gesture  and  authority  of  enunciation. 
The  scenery  was  handsome.  There  was  a  prodigious 
cataract,  which,  however,  had  the  fairy-like  quality  of 
making  no  sound. 

GLOSSARY  OF  "THE  SUNKEN  BELL." 
From  the  Sothern-Marlowe  Playbill. 
Being  notes,  suggesting  the   interpretation   of  the   characters 
as  wrought  out  by  Miss  Marlowe  and  Mr.  Sothern : 


SOTHERN-MARLOWE    COMBINATION      121 

HEINRICH. 

"Typifying  Human  Aspiration,  strives  for  the  Liberation  of 
the  Soul  from  Formalism  at  its  Best  and  Worst." 

MAGDA. 

"Typifying  Formalism  at  its  best,  strives  against  Him." 

THEIR  CHILDREN. 

"Typifying  the  Most  Potent  and  Subtle  Weapons  of  Formal- 
ism at  its  Best,  give  Him  his  Death  Wounds.' 


» 


THE  VICAR— THE  SCHOOLMASTER— THE  BARBER. 

"Typifying  Formalism  at  its  worst,  war  against,  but  cannot 
conquer  Him." 

OLD  WITTIKIN. 

"Typifying    Philosophy,    weakens    Him    by    warring    against 
neither  Him  nor  Them  that  war  against  Him." 

RAUTENDELEIN. 

"Typifying  the  Freedom  of  the   Soul;  appears  to  Him  as  a 
Vision  and  lends  Him  Strength  for  his  Conflict." 

THE  NICKELMANN. 

"Typifying  Ancient  Skepticism,  wars  against  Him  by  Recurring 
Attempts  to  take  Her  from  Him." 

THE  WOOD  SPRITE. 

"Typifying  Fleshly   Lust,  wars  against  Him  by  unremitting 
efforts  to  enthrall  Her." 


122  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 


THE  FAIRIES. 


"Typifying  the  Fleeting  Beauty   of  Nature,  weaken   Him  by 
lulling  Him  to  Rest  in  lieu  of  awakening  Him  to  Action." 


THE    TROLLS. 


"Typifying  the  Permanent  Ugly  Forces  of  Nature,  weaken 
Him  by  compelling  Him  to  wage  Useless  Battle  against  Them." 

THE  VILLAGERS. 

"Typifying  the  Familiar  Environment  of  Formalism,  weaken 
Him  by  their  inability  to  support  Magda  in  her  Hour  of  Un- 
wonted Trial." 

"The  story  illustrates  the  efforts  of  a  bell  founder,  an  artist 
who  has  lived  and  worked  with  contentment  in  the  valleys,  and 
who  is  moved  to  attempt  a  masterpiece  which  shall  ring  forth 
gloriously  on  the  heights  of  life.  His  effort  fails ;  the  great  bell 
he  has  cast,  during  the  labor  of  raising  it  high  above,  where  its 
clear  tones  will  be  heard  far  and  wide,  breaks  away  from  those 
who  are  moving  it  up  the  mountainside  and  falls  to  the  bottom 
of  the  lake.  Crushed  though  the  artist  is  by  the  catastrophe,  he 
finds  new  health  and  strength  in  the  love  of  a  beautiful  spirit  of 
the  mountains,  for  whom  he  forgets  wife,  children,  and  the  lowly 
duties  of  the  vale.  He  dreams  of  a  splendid  temple  he  will  build 
on  the  heights  for  a  worship  that  shall  free  and  not  enslave  man- 
kind. But  lacking  the  firm  basis  of  duty  his  art  fails  him,  and 
when  he  seeks  consolation  in  the  love  of  the  beautiful  spirit 
that  awoke  him  to  the  higher  ideal,  remorse  (typified  by  the 
sound  of  the  sunken  bell,  rung  by  the  dead  wife)  overpowers 
and  paralyzes  him.  The  phantom  forms  of  his  two  children 
appear  to  him  toiling  painfully  up  the  mountainside,  and,  con- 
science-stricken, he  casts  off  and  flees  from  the  'elfin  creature.' 
Heinrich,  the  bell  founder,  the  part  played  by  Mr.  Sothern,  is 
a  symbol  of  humanity,  struggling  painfully  toward  the  realiza- 


SOTHERN-MARLOWE    COMBINATION      123 

tion  of  its  dream  of  the  ideal  truth  and  joy  and  light  and 
justice.  Rautendelein,  the  part  played  by  Miss  Marlowe,  stands 
for  nature,  or  rather  for  the  freedom  and  sincerity  of  nature, 
missing  a  reunion  with  which  Humanity  can  never  hope  to  reach 
the  supreme  truth  and  the  supreme  bliss  of  which  the  sun  is  the 
emblem." 

Most  readers  will,  I  think,  agree  that  drama  and 
acting  which  require  diagrams,  charts,  blue-prints,  foot- 
notes, etc.,  are  bad  art  and  a  long  way  from  "the  pur- 
pose of  playing." 


TIT. 

ADA  REHAN. 
1860—19—. 

"  'Thou  fooleP  said  Love,  'know'st  thou  not  this — 
In  everything  that's  sweet  she  is! 
In  yond  carnation  goe  and  seek, 
There  shalt  thou  find  her  lip  and  cheek; 
In  that  cnamcVd  pansic  by, 
There  shalt  thou  have  her  curious  eye; 
In  bloom  of  peach  and  rose's  bud, 
There  waves  the  streamer  of  her  blood.* 
"Tis  true,*  said  I,  and  thereupon 
I  xcent  to  pluck  them,  one  by  one." 

— Herrick. 

In  musing  over  the  fragrant,  evergreen  pages  of 
Cibber's  delightful  "Apology,"  and  especially  in  reflect- 
ing upon  the  beautiful  and  brilliant  women  who,  drawn 
by  his  expert  pen,  dwell  there,  perpetual,  in  life, 
color,  and  charm,  the  reflective  reader  may  perhaps  be 
prompted  to  remember  that  the  royal  line  of  stage 
beauties  is  not  extinct,  and  that  stage  heroines  exist 
in  the  present  day  who  are  quite  as  well  worthy  of 
commemoration  as  any  that  graced  the  period  of  King 
Charles  the  Second  or  of  good  Queen  Anne.     Our  age, 

124 


ADA    REHAN  125 

indeed,  has  no  Cibber  to  describe  their  loveliness  and 
celebrate  their  achievements, — but  surely,  if  he  were 
living  at  this  hour,  that  clever,  characteristic,  sensuous 
writer,  who  saw  so  clearly  and  could  portray  so  well  the 
peculiarities  of  the  feminine  nature,  would  not  deem  the 
period  of  Ellen  Terry,  Marie  Wilton,  Ada  Rehan,  Mary 
Anderson,  Sarah  Bernhardt,  Genevieve  Ward,  Clara 
Morris,  Jane  Hading,  Blanche  Bates,  and  Julia  Mar- 
lowe unworthy  of  his  pen.  As  often  as  fancy  ranges 
over  those  bright  names  and  others  that  are  kindred  with 
them, — a  glittering  sisterhood  of  charms  and  talents, — 
the  regret  must  arise  that  no  literary  artist  with  the  gal- 
lantry, susceptibility,  and  sensuous  appreciation,  the 
insight,  and  the  pictorial  touch  of  old  Cibber  is  extant  to 
perpetuate  their  glory.  The  hand  that  sketched  Eliza- 
beth Barry  so  as  to  make  her  live  forever  in  a  few  brief 
lines,  the  hand  that  drew  the  informing  portrait  of 
Susanna  Mountfort  ("Down  goes  her  dainty  diving 
body  to  the  ground,  as  if  she  were  sinking  under  the 
conscious  load  of  her  own  attractions"), — what  might 
it  not  have  done  to  preserve  for  the  knowledge  of  future 
generations  the  queens  of  the  Theatre  who  are  crowned 
and  regnant  to-day!  Cibber  could  have  caught  and 
reflected  the  elusive  charm  of  Ada  Rehan.  No  touch 
less  adroit  and  felicitous  than  his  can  accomplish  more 
than  the  suggestion  of  her  peculiar  allurement,  her 
originality,  and  her  enchanting,  because  sympathetic 
and  piquant,  mental  and  physical  characteristics. 


126  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

Ada  Rehan,  born  at  Limerick,  Ireland,  on  April  22, 
1860,  was  brought  to  America  when  five  years  old,  and 
in  girlhood  she  lived  and  went  to  school  in  Brooklyn. 
No  one  of  her  progenitors  was  ever  on  the  stage,  nor 
does  it  appear  that  she  was  predisposed  to  that  voca- 
tion by  early  reading  or  training.  Her  elder  sisters 
had  adopted  that  pursuit,  and  perhaps  she  was  impelled 
toward  it  by  the  force  of  example  and  domestic  asso- 
ciation, readily  affecting  her  innate  latent  faculty  for 
the  dramatic  art.  Her  first  appearance  on  the  stage 
was  made  at  Newark,  New  Jersey,  in  1873,  in  a  play 
entitled  "Across  the  Continent,"  in  which  she  acted  a 
small  part,  named  Clara,  for  one  night  only,  to  fill  the 
place  of  a  performer  who  had  been  suddenly  disabled  by 
illness.  Her  readiness  and  her  positive  talent  were 
clearly  revealed  in  that  effort,  and  it  was  thereupon 
determined,  in  a  family  council,  that  she  should  proceed, 
and  she  was  soon  regularly  embarked  on  the  life  of  an 
actress.  Her  first  appearance  on  the  New  York  Stage 
was  made  in  1873,  at  Wood's  Museum,  when  she  played 
a  small  part  in  a  piece  called  "Thorough-bred."  Dur- 
ing the  seasons  of  1873-'74-'75  she  was  associated  with 
the  Arch  Street  Theatre,  Philadelphia, — that  being  her 
first  regular  professional  engagement.  (John  Drew, 
with  whom,  in  the  theatre,  Ada  Rehan,  in  after  years, 
was  long  associated,  made  his  first  appearance  in  the 
same  season  at  the  same  house.)  She  then  went  to 
Macaulay's  Theatre,  Louisville,  where  she  acted  for  one 


ADA    REHAN  127 

season.  From  Louisville  she  went  to  Albany,  as  a 
member  of  John  W.  Albaugh's  company,  and  with  that 
manager  she  remained  two  seasons,  acting  sometimes  in 
Albany  and  sometimes  in  Baltimore.  After  that  she 
was  associated  for  a  short  time  with  Fanny  Davenport. 
The  earlier  part  of  her  career  involved  professional 
endeavors  in  company  with  the  wandering  stars,  and 
she  acted,  in  a  variety  of  plays,  with  Edwin  Booth, 
Adelaide  Neilson,  John  McCullough,  Mrs.  Bowers, 
Lawrence  Barrett,  John  Brougham,  Edwin  Adams, 
Mrs.  Lander,  and  John  T.  Raymond. 

From  the  first  Miss  Rehan  was  fond  of  Shakespeare, 
and  all  the  Shakespearean  characters  allotted  to  her 
were  studied  and  acted  by  her  with  eager  interest  and 
sympathy.  While  thus  employed  in  the  provincial  stock 
she  acted  Ophelia,  Cordelia,  Desdemo?ia,  Celia,  Olivia, 
and  Lady  Anne,  and  in  each  of  those  parts  she  was  con- 
spicuously good.  The  attention  of  Augustin  Daly  was 
first  attracted  to  her  in  December,  1877,  when  she  was 
acting  at  Albaugh's  Theatre  in  Albany,  the  play  being 
"Katharine  and  Petruchio"  (Garrick's  version  of  "The 
Taming  of  the  Shrew"),  in  which  she  was  playing 
Bianca;  and  subsequently  Daly  again  remarked  her  as 
an  actress  of  auspicious  distinction  at  the  Grand  Opera 
House,  New  York,  in  April,  1879.  Fanny  Davenport 
was  then  acting  in  that  theatre,  in  Daly's  strong  play'  of 
"Pique,"  and  Ada  Rehan  appeared  in  it  as  Mary  Stand- 
ish.     She  was  immediately  engaged  under  Daly's  man- 


128  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

agement,  and  in  May,  1870,  she  came  forth  at  the  Olym- 
pic Theatre,  New  York,  as  Big  Clemence  in  that  author's 
version  of  "L'Assommoir."  On  September  17,  1879, 
Daly's  Theatre  (which  had  been  suspended  for  about 
two  years)  was  opened,  on  the  southwest  corner  of  Thir- 
tieth Street  and  Broadway,  and  Ada  Rehan  made  her 
first  appearance  there,  acting  Nelly  Beet's,  in  a  play 
called  "Love's  Young  Dream."  The  opening  bill  on 
that  occasion  comprised  that  piece  together  with  a 
comedy  by  Olive  Logan,  entitled  "Newport."  On  Sep- 
tember 30  a  revival  of  "Divorce,"  one  of  Daly's  most 
fortunate  plays,  was  effected,  and  Ada  Rehan  imper- 
sonated Miss  Lu  Ten  Eyck — a  part  originally  acted 
(1873)  by  Fanny  Davenport.  From  that  time  forward 
Ada  Rehan  remained  the  leading  lady  at  Daly's  The- 
atre, and  there  she  became  one  of  the  most  distinguished 
and  admired  figures  on  the  contemporary  stage. 

In  eight  professional  visits  to  Europe,  acting  in  Lon- 
don, Paris,  Edinburgh,  Dublin,  Berlin,  and  other  cities, 
she  pleased  judicious  audiences  and  augmented  her 
renown.  Daly  took  his  company  of  comedians  to  Lon- 
don for  the  first  time  in  1884,  where  they  fulfilled  an 
engagement  of  six  weeks,  at  Toole's  Theatre,  beginning 
July  19.  The  second  visit  to  London  was  made  two 
seasons  later,  when  they  acted  for  nine  weeks  at  the 
Strand  Theatre,  beginning  May  27,  1886.  At  that  time 
they  also  played  in  the  English  provinces,  and  they 
visited   Germany, — acting  at   Hamburg  and   at   Berlin, 


ADA    REHAN  129 

where  they  were  much  liked  and  commended.  They 
likewise  made  a  trip  to  Paris.  Their  third  season  abroad 
began  at  the  Lyceum  Theatre,  London,  May  3,  1888, 
and  it  included  another  expedition  to  the  French  capital, 
which  was  well  rewarded.  Miss  Rehan  at  that  time 
impersonated  Shakespeare's  Shrew.  In  that  season 
also  she  appeared  at  Stratford-upon-Avon,  August  3, 
1888,  in  the  Shakespeare  Memorial  Theatre,  acting 
Katharine,  in  a  performance  that  Daly  caused  his  com- 
pany to  give  for  the  benefit  of  that  institution.  The 
fourth  season  of  Daly's  comedians  in  London  began 
on  June  10,  1890,  at  the  Lyceum  Theatre,  and  lasted 
ten  weeks,  and  this  was  signalized  by  Miss  Rehan's 
impersonation  of  Rosalind.  The  fifth  London  season 
extended  from  September  9  to  November  13,  1891,  and 
in  the  course  of  it,  on  September  23,  in  company  with 
Daly,  she  visited  the  poet  Tennyson,  at  Aldworth,  and 
heard  him  read  his  play,  on  the  Robin  Hood  story, 
which  finally  was  called  "The  Foresters."  That  play, 
after  judicious  adaptation  of  it,  Daly  produced,  at  his 
New  York  theatre,  on  March  17,  1892,  Miss  Rehan 
acting  Marian  Lea.  Meanwhile,  on  October  30,  1891, 
she  had  taken  a  principal  part  in  proceedings  incident 
to  laying  the  corner-stone  of  Daly's  Theatre,  Leices- 
ter Square,  London.  That  theatre  was  opened  on 
June  27,  1893,  with  "The  Taming  of  the  Shrew,"  fol- 
lowed, after  fourteen  performances,  by  representations 
of, — among  other  plays, — "The  Foresters,"  "The  School 


130  THE    WALLET    OF   TIME 

for  Scandal,"  which  was  forty-nine  times  repeated,  and 
"The  Country  Girl."  On  January  8,  1894,  Miss  Rehan 
there  acted  Viola,  a  part  which  she  had  first  assumed 
on  February  21,  1893,  in  New  York.  Her  personation 
of  Viola  was  cordially  liked  in  London,  and  "Twelfth 
Night,"  when  thus  presented  there,  was  performed  111 
times,  completely  thawing  the  ice  of  social  reserve, 
dispelling  the  constraint  of  critical  reluctance,  and  es- 
tablishing the  success  of  the  new  house  beyond  dispute. 
The  London  season  was  closed  with  "As  You  Like  It," 
on  May  5,  1894,  Miss  Rehan,  as  Rosalind,  then  giving  the 
performance  which  proved  to  be  her  last  in  the  London 
Daly's  Theatre.  In  the  following  August  she  returned 
to  New  York,  where  she  acted,  at  Daly's  Theatre,  in 
various  plays,  throughout  the  ensuing  theatrical  season, 
which  lasted  till  April  20,  1895.  On  February  25, 
that  year,  she  had  appeared  as  Julia,  in  "The  Two 
Gentlemen  of  Verona,"  which,  then  revived  by  Daly, 
was  acted  for  the  first  time  in  New  York  since  1846. 
During  her  season  of  1895-'96,  which  began  on  Sep- 
tember 23,  1895,  in  Chicago,  she  appeared  in  many  cities 
of  America,  acting  various  parts.  In  January,  1896, 
she  added  to  her  repertory  the  part  of  Countess  Gucki, 
in  a  play  of  the  same  name.  In  July  that  year  she 
filled  a  six  weeks'  engagement  at  the  Comedy  Theatre, 
London,  in  "The  Countess  Gucki"  and  "Love  on 
Crutches."  She  then  returned  to  America  and,  on  Decem- 
ber 23,  at  Daly's  Theatre,  she  for  the  first  time  acted 


ADA    REHAN  131 

Beatrice,  in  "Much  Ado  About  Nothing."  On  March 
12,  1897,  Daly  produced  a  play  by  Robert  W.  Cham- 
bers, called  "The  Witch  of  Ellangowan,"  founded  on 
the  novel  of  "Guy  Mannering,"  and  Miss  Rehan 
appeared  as  Meg  Merrilies.  On  April  6  Shakespeare's 
lovely  comedy  of  "The  Tempest"  was  presented  at 
Daly's  Theatre,  but  it  was  not  till  the  afternoon  of 
April  20  that  Miss  Rehan  appeared  as  Miranda. 

In  August,  1897,  Miss  Rehan  and  her  associates  in 
Daly's  Company  appeared  at  Stratford-upon-Avon, 
giving  a  performance  of  "As  You  Like  It"  for  the 
benefit  of  the  Shakespeare  Memorial  Theatre.  The 
actress  was  then  made  one  of  the  life  governors  of 
that  institution.  A  tour  of  England  and  Scotland  was 
next  accomplished,  and  in  October  Miss  Rehan  acted  at 
the  old  Grand  Theatre,  Islington,  afterward  destroyed 
by  fire:  that  was  her  last  professional  appearance  in 
London.  On  November  29,  1897,  she  reappeared  at 
Daly's  Theatre,  New  York.  The  regular  dramatic  com- 
pany acted  there,  sometimes  alternating  with  a  musical 
company  in  "The  Geisha,"  for  many  weeks:  the  season 
of  1897-'98  was  closed  with  a  tour,  which  ended,  in 
Chicago,  June  4.  In  the  fall  of  1898  Daly  produced, 
at  Philadelphia,  an  English  adaptation  of  "Cyrano  de 
Bergerac,"  and  Miss  Rehan  appeared  in  it,  as  Roxane, 
— Charles  Richman  playing  Cyrano  and  Jefferson  Win- 
ter Christian.  On  November  19,  1898,  Daly  produced 
"The  Merchant  of  Venice,"  and  Miss  Rehan  appeared 


132  THE    WALLET    OF   TIME 

for  the  first  time  as  Portia — Sidney  Herbert  aeting 
Shylock.  On  January  3,  1899,  she  acted  Madame  Sans 
Gene,  in  the  play  of  that  name,  and  on  February  9 
she  appeared  as  Lady  Garnet,  in  "The  Great  Ruby," 
the  last  part  she  acted  under  the  management  of 
Augustin  Daly.  She  withdrew  from  the  cast  of  that 
play  early  in  May,  and  on  the  13th,  in  company  with 
Daly  and  Mrs.  Daly,  sailed  for  England.  Daly  died 
in  Paris,  June  7,  and  the  more  important  part  of  Ada 
Rehan's  public  life  then  ended.  She  subsequently 
returned  to  the  stage  and  acted  in  selections  from  her 
repertory.  In  1900-'01  she  appeared,  beginning  at 
Buffalo,  November  26,  in  a  new  play,  by  Mr.  Paul 
Kester,  entitled  "Sweet  Nell  of  Old  Drury,"  and  on 
December  31  she  reappeared  in  New  York,  in  that  play, 
at  the  Knickerbocker  Theatre.  In  1903  she  revived 
"The  Taming  of  the  Shrew"  and  other  plays  of  her 
repertory  and,  in  association  with  that  excellent  actor 
Otis  Skinner,  made  a  tour  of  the  country,  coming  to 
the  Lyric  Theatre,  New  York,  on  January  18,  1904. 
In  1904-'05  she  continued  to  present  a  few  of  her 
old  plays — Charles  Richman  appearing  as  her  leading 
man.  Her  last  appearance  was  made  at  the  Metropol- 
itan Opera  House,  New  York,  on  May  2,  1905,  when 
she  participated  in  the  Testimonial  Performance  given 
for  the  benefit  of  Helena  Modjeska. 

That  is  an  outline  of  Ada  Rehan's  professional  story; 
but    how    little    of    the    real    life    of    an    actor    can    be 


From  a  Photograph  by  Ainu   Dupont.        In  the  Collection  of  the  Author. 


ADA    KEHAN. 


ADA    REHAN  133 

imparted  in  a  record  of  the  surface  facts  of  a  public 
career!  There  was  deep  feeling  beneath  the  luminous 
and  sparkling  surface  of  her  art,  but  it  was  chiefly  with 
mirth  that  she  touched  the  public  heart  and  affected  the 
public  experience.  In  a  civilization  and  at  a  period 
wherein  persons  are  customarily  accepted  for  what  they 
pretend  to  be,  instead  of  being  seen  and  understood  for 
what  they  are,  she  was  content  to  take  an  unpretentious 
course,  to  be  original  and  simple,  and  thus  to  allow 
her  faculties  to  ripen  and  her  character  to  develop  in 
their  natural  manner.  She  did  not  at  once  assume 
the  position  of  a  star,  and  perhaps  the  American  com- 
munity, although  favorable  and  friendly  toward  her, 
was  slow  to  understand  her  unique  personality  and  her 
superlative  worth.  The  moment  a  thoughtful  observer's 
attention  is  called  to  the  fact,  however,  he  perceives  how 
large  a  place  Ada  Rehan  has  filled  in  the  public  mind, 
how  conspicuous  a  figure  she  was  on  the  contemporary 
Stage,  and  how  difficult  it  is  to  explain  and  classify  her, 
whether  as  an  artist  or  a  woman.  That  blendine1  of 
complexity  with  transparency  always  imparts  to  individ- 
ual life  a  tinge  of  piquant  interest,  because  it  is  one 
denotement  of  the  temperament  of  genius. 

The  poets  of  the  world  pour  themselves  through  all 
subjects  by  the  use  of  their  own  words.  In  what  man- 
ner they  are  affected  by  the  forces  of  nature, — its  influ- 
ences of  gentleness,  beauty,  and  peace,  or  its  pageants 
of  majesty  and   terror, — those  words  denote;   and   also 


134  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

those  words  indicate  the  action,  upon  their  responsive 
spirits,  of  the  passions  that  agitate  the  human  heart. 
The  actors,  on  the  other  hand,  assuming  to  be  the 
interpreters  of  the  poets,  must  pour  themselves  through 
all  subjects  by  the  use  of  their  personalities.  They  are 
to  be  estimated,  accordingly,  by  whatever  the  competent 
observer  is  able  to  perceive  of  the  nature  and  the  facul- 
ties they  reveal  under  the  stress  of  emotion,  whether 
tragic  or  comic.  Perhaps  it  is  not  possible, — mind  being 
limited  in  its  function, — for  any  person  to  form  an 
absolutely  full,  true,  and  definite  summary  of  another 
human  creature.  To  view  a  dramatic  performance  with 
a  consciousness  of  the  necessity  of  forming  a  judicial 
opinion  of  it  is  often  to  see  the  self-conscious  observer's 
thought  about  it  rather  than  the  thing  itself.  Yet  all 
allowance  being  made  for  difficulty  of  theme  and  for 
infirmity  of  judgment,  the  observer  of  Ada  Rehan  could 
surely  conclude  that  she  possessed  a  rich,  tender,  spar- 
kling nature,  in  which  the  dream-like  quality  of  sentiment 
and  the  discursive  faculty  of  imagination, — intimately 
blended  with  deep,  broad,  accurate  perceptions  of  the 
actual,  and  with  a  fund  of  keen,  sagacious  sense, — were 
reinforced  by  strong  individuality  and  by  affluent  and 
extraordinary  vital  force.  She  was  not  a  slave  to 
traditions.  She  went  to  the  Stage  not  because  of  vanity 
but  because  of  spontaneous  impulse,  and  for  the  expres- 
sion of  every  part  that  she  played  she  went  to  Nature 
and  not  to  precept  and  precedent.     The  stamp  of  her 


ADA    REHAN  135 

personality  was  distinct  upon  every  part  that  she  played; 
yet  the  thinker  who  looks  back  upon  her  numerous 
and  various  impersonations  is  astonished  at  their  diver- 
sity. The  romance,  sorrow,  and  fortitude  of  Kate 
Verity,  the  impetuous  passion  of  Katharine,  the  bril- 
liant raillery  of  Hippolyta,  the  sweet  candor  and  lovely 
innocence  of  Miranda,  the  sparkling  vitality  of  Beatrice, 
the  enchanting  womanhood  of  Rosalind — how  clear-cut, 
how  distinct,  how  absolutely  dramatic  was  each  one  of 
those  personifications,  and  yet  how  completely  char- 
acteristic each  one  was  of  the  actress  herself!  Our  works 
of  art  may  be  subject  to  the  application  of  our  knowledge 
and  skill,  but  we  ourselves  are  under  the  dominance  of 
laws  which  operate  out  of  the  inaccessible  and  indefinable 
depths  of  the  spirit.  Compared  with  most  players  of 
her  period,  Ada  Rehan  was  a  prodigy  of  original  force. 
Her  influence,  accordingly,  was  felt  more  than  it  was 
understood,  and,  being  elusive  and  strange,  it  prompted 
wide  differences  of  opinion.  The  sense  that  she  diffused 
of  a  simple,  unselfish,  patient  nature,  and  of  impulsive 
tenderness  of  heart,  however,  cannot  have  been  missed 
by  anybody  with  eyes  to  see.  And  she  crowned  all  by 
speaking  the  English  language  with  a  purity  of  enuncia- 
tion that  has  seldom  been  equalled. 

When,  in  reminiscent  mood,  I  muse  on  the  brilliant 
career  of  Ada  Rehan,  the  character  of  the  woman,  as 
known  to  me,  seems  even  more  interesting  than  the 
achievement   of   the   actress.     That   character   and   that 


136  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

achievement  can,  perhaps,  he  significantly   indicated,   if 
not  summarized,  in  these  words: 

Ada  Rehan  was  a  creature  of  simplicity  and  truth, 
and  likewise  of  piquancy  and  fascination.  She  had  not 
been  trained  under  severe  methods  of  education,  but 
the  fine  discipline  of  mind  that  she  possessed, — in 
which  there  was  an  element  of  great  and  gentle  patience, 
— was  mainly  such  as  she  had  acquired  in  practical 
experience.  Her  reading,  while  it  included  numberless 
plays  and  other  books  such  as  naturally  come  within  the 
scope  of  the  dramatic  profession,  covered  a  wide 
field  of  biography  and  of  imaginative  literature.  She 
was  a  reader  of  Thackeray, — an  author  seldom  liked  by 
women,  perhaps  because  he  understood  their  weaknesses 
too  well,— and  she  especially  admired  the  works  of 
Balzac.  She  had  carefully  read  the  novels  of  those 
great  writers,  and  had  profited  by  them.  Her  knowl- 
edge of  human  nature, — gained  partly  by  keen  intui- 
tion and  partly  by  close  observance, — was  ample,  various, 
and  sound.  Her  thoughts,  and  often  her  talk,  dwelt 
upon  traits  of  character,  fabrics  of  art,  and  beauties  of 
nature,  and  she  loved  rather  to  speak  of  these  than  of 
the  commonplaces  and  practical  affairs  of  the  passing 
day.  Her  grasp  of  character  was  intuitive;  she  judged 
rightly,  and  she  was  seldom  or  never  mistaken  in  her 
estimate  of  individuals.  Her  perception  was  exceedingly 
acute,    and    she    noted,    instantly    and    correctly,    every 


ADA    REHAN  137 

essential  trait,  however  slight,  of  each  person  who 
approached  her  presence.  She  was  intrinsically  sincere, 
modest,  and  humble — neither  setting  a  great  value  upon 
herself  nor  esteeming  her  powers  and  achievements  to 
be  unusual;  she  has  been  known  to  be  in  tears,  at 
what  she  deemed  a  professional  failure,  while  a  brilliant 
throng  of  friends  was  waiting  to  congratulate  her  on 
an  unequivocal  success. 

Ada   Rehan   was  a  passionate  lover   of  beauty,  and 

she  could  discern,  and  cordially  admire,  the  beauty  of 

other  women, — a  happiness  unusual  with  her  sex.     She 

could   be   conventional,   having   learned   how   to   be   so; 

but  the  conventional  was  not  her  natural  way, — for  her 

temperament  had  in  it  something  of  the  romantic  quality 

of  the  ideal  gypsy.     Her  physical  beauty  was   of   the 

kind  that  appears  in  portraits  of  women   by   Romney 

and  by  Gainsborough, — ample,  opulent,  bewitching;  and 

it  was  enriched  by  the  enchantment  of  superb  animal 

spirits.     She  had  gray-blue  eyes  and  brown  hair,  which 

prematurely  became  gray,   and   she  had  the   tremulous 

sensibility   of   the    Celtic   nature;   a    careless    strain    of 

music   or   the   lilt   of   an   old   ballad   would   bring   tears 

into  her  eyes.    She  lived  in  feeling  more  than  in  thought. 

She   was   essentially   feminine, — moved   by   fancies    and 

caprices,  subject  to  doubts  and  fears,  and  impressed -by 

the  strong  will  that  achieves  practical  results  instead  of 

proclaiming  ideal  purposes.     Her  disposition  was  affec- 


138  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

tionate  rather  than  passionate,  and  such  as  does  not 
yield  unduly  either  to  love  or  grief.  She  was  generous 
and  grateful,  and  she  never  forgot  a  kindness.  Her 
mind  was  free  from  envy  and  bitterness.  She  saw  with 
pleasure  the  merited  success  of  others,  and  she  rejoiced 
in  it,  and  she  never  spoke  an  ill  word  of  anybody.  Her 
spirit  was  mercurial,  ranging  easily  from  smiles  to  tears, 
but  essentially  she  was  joyous;  and  her  image,  in  mem- 
ory, will  always  be  associated  with  mirth. 

Ada  Rehan  was  profoundly  ambitious  to  excel  in  her 
art,  and  to  that  art  she  gave  her  life.  The  predominant 
characteristic  of  her  acting  was  buoyant  glee,  which  rip- 
pled over  a  depth  of  warm,  sensuous  feeling,  and  ani- 
mated an  affluent  and  incessant  variety  of  spirited,  flex- 
ible, cumulative  movement.  It  possessed  many  other 
attributes, — for  the  actress  could  be  stately,  forcible, 
satirical,  violent,  arch,  flippant,  and  demure;  but  its 
special  allurement  was  a  blending  of  sweetness  and  joy. 
She  always  aroused  the  eager  interest  of  her  audience, 
and  imparted  to  it  a  sense  of  comfort  and  pleasure;  but 
the  amplest  and  most  direct  revelations  of  her  mind  and 
temperament  were  made  in  such  characters  as  Rosalind, 
Lady  Teazle,  and  Peggy  Thrift.  Her  delivery  of  Rosa- 
lind's speech  about  woman's  caprice,  her  wheedling  talk 
to  Sir  Peter  Teazle,  her  quarrel  with  him,  and  her 
demeanor  of  bland,  demure  innocence,  and  of  sweet  sim- 
plicity playing  over  latent  roguery,  in  Peggy  Thrift's 
Love  Scene  and  Letter  Scene,  were  perfect  and  irresisti- 


ADA    REHAN  139 

ble.  Each  of  her  achievements  had  a  clear  design  and  a 
symmetrical  form,  and  her  acting,  if  closely  scrutinized, 
was  seen  to  have  been  studied,  yet  it  always  seemed 
spontaneous:  her  handsome,  ingenuous,  winning  counte- 
nance informed  it  with  sympathy,  while  her  voice, — 
copious,  tender,  and  musical, — filled  it  with  emotion, 
speaking  from  the  heart.  She  was  intrinsically  a  guile- 
less and  noble  person,  and  the  structure  of  her  acting, — 
with  all  its  drolleries  of  careless  frolic,  sportive  coquetry, 
and  tantalizing  caprice, — was  reared  on  the  basis  of  a 
strong,  self-contained,  womanlike,  lovely  nature.  The 
most  completely  finished  and  authoritative  of  her  graver 
impersonations  was  Knowles's  Julia,  and  her  favorite 
woman  in  Shakespeare  was  Portia.  Her  best  perform- 
ance was  that  of  Rosalind.  Her  most  obviously  effective 
and  popular  performance  was  that  of  Katharine.  She 
acted  more  than  one  hundred  and  seventy  parts,  of 
record,  and  many  others  not  recorded.  Of  characters  in 
Shakespeare  she  impersonated  Beatrice,  Bianca,  Celia, 
Cordelia,  Desdenwna,  Helena,  Julia,  Katharine,  Lady 
Anne,  Miranda,  Mrs.  Ford,  Olivia,  Ophelia,  Portia, 
Prince  Edward,  the  Princess  of  France,  Queen  Eliza- 
beth, Queen  of  France,  Rosalind,  Ursula,  and  Viola. 

Ada  Rehan's  domestic  life  was,  for  the  most  part, 
tranquil  and  happy, — diversified  with  study,  and  with 
the  sportive  company  of  her  animal  pets.  Among  those 
pets  were  a  monkey,  named  Chip,  and  a  bulldog,  named 


140  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

Fun:  the  former  an  interesting  creature  of  its  kind;  the 
latter  a  faithful  animal,  which  inspired  regard  rather 
by  its  virtues  than  its  propitiatory  aspect.  Above  all, 
she  was  fond  of  a  little  King  Charles  spaniel,  called 
Bobs;  but  to  all  she  was  deeply  attached.  I  have  seen 
her  wandering,  with  her  dog,  on  the  broad,  solitary 
waste  of  the  breezy  beach  that  stretches  away,  for 
many  a  sunlit  mile,  in  front  of  her  sequestered  cottage 
on  the  Cumberland  shore  of  the  Irish  Sea.  She  was 
never  so  contented,  never  so  radiant,  never  so  much 
herself,  as  in  that  beautiful  retreat.  The  nearest  house 
is  a  mile  distant.  Far  in  the  east  rise  the  peaks  of 
Coniston  and  Skiddaw.  More  near,  like  an  eagle  on 
its  crag,  is  perched  the  ancient  castle  of  the  lords  of 
Muncaster.  Southward  lies  Furness,  with  its  venerable 
ruined  abbey.  To  the  north  the  land  trends  away,  past 
Queen  Mary  Stuart's  fatal  haven  and  Wordsworth's 
earliest  home,  to  the  dim  and  cloudy  capes  of  Scotland: 
while,  remote  in  the  west,  if  the  air  be  clear,  a  faint 
outline  is  visible  of  the  romantic  Isle  of  Man.  There, 
encompassed  by  associations  of  natural  beauty  and  of 
historic  and  poetic  renown,  and  surrounded  by  her 
books,  pictures,  relics,  music,  and  her  pets,  she  was 
happy.  There  she  was  respected  and  beloved.  There 
for  many  years  her  memory  will  be  treasured.  And  not 
only  there;  for,  on  both  sides  of  the  ocean,  she  has  given 
happiness  to  thousands  of  hearts;  and  in  them  her  name 
will  be  enshrined,  as  long  as  love  remembers. 


ADA    REHAN  141 


ADA    REHAN'S    ACTING. 


"The  grace  of  action,  the  adopted  mien, 
Faithful  as  Nature  to  the  varied  scene; 
TW  expressive  glance,  xvhose  subtle  comment  draws 
Entranc'd  attention  and  a  mute  applause; 
Gesture  that  marks,  with  force  and  feeling  fraught, 
A  sense  in  silence  and  a  will  in  thought; 
Harmonious  speech,  whose  pure  and  liquid  tone 
Gives  verse  a  music  scarce  confess'd  its  own, — 
As  light  from  gems  assumes  a  brighter  ray 
And,  clothed  with  orient  hues,  transcends  the  day" 

— Sheridan. 

In  the  records  which  remain  of  the  famous  women  of 
the  Stage  the  potent  charm  of  their  acting  is  fervently 
asserted  but  seldom  or  never  fully  explained.  The  biog- 
raphies,  for  example,  that  commemorate  Mrs.  Porter, 
Mrs.  Pritchard,  Mrs.  Bracegirdle,  Mrs.  Oldfield,  Mrs. 
Dancer,  Mrs.  Cibber,  Mrs.  Woffington,  Mrs.  Yates, 
Mrs.  Siddons,  Mrs.  Merry,  Mrs.  Duff,  and  Mrs.  Wheat- 
ley,  while  they  are  profuse  and  sometimes  enthusiastic  in 
specification  of  the  exploits  and  the  particular  triumphs 
of  those  illustrious  actors,  can  be  said  to  mention  their 
power  rather  than  to  display  it.  When  all  has  been 
told  that  words  can  tell  of  those  eminent  combinations 
of  genius  and  beauty,  there  is  still  something  which 
remains  untold.  The  fascinating  allurement  of  eyes 
and  voice,  the  enchantment  of  individuality,  the  charm 
of  temperament,  the  puissant  sympathetic  force,  the 
spell  of  inspiration, — those  attributes  cannot  be  crystal- 


142  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

lized  into  the  written  word.  The  biographer  can  only 
declare  that  they  existed;  their  magical  loveliness  and 
their  triumphant  sway  must  he  imagined.  The  Past 
exulted  in  many  dramatic  idols;  the  Present  has 
inherited  only  their  names.  So  it  has  ever  been  and  so 
it  will  be  forever.  Admirable  dramatic  leaders  of  the 
Present  will  doubtless  be  known  to  the  Future,  but  they 
will  be  known  as  shadows.  Their  fame  may  fly  onward: 
the  reason  for  it  will  remain  behind.  What  words  can 
transmit  to  posterity  the  smile  of  Ellen  Terry  or  the 
voice  of  Ada  Rehan? 

The  pictorial  art  has  done  much  for  actors, — more 
than  could  be  done  for  them  by  the  art  of  writing.  The 
best  understood  and  most  admired  actor  of  the  distant 
past  is  David  Garrick,  and  that  is  mainly  because  many 
portraits  were  made  of  him,  which  still  survive, — most 
of  them  good,  and  many  of  them  superbly  illuminative 
of  what  must  indeed  have  been  an  enchanting  face.  To 
the  pictorial  art,  accordingly,  judgment,  taste,  and 
friendship  will  resort  when  they  are  wishful  to  com- 
memorate an  actor.  Portraits  of  Ada  Rehan  would  tell 
more  about  her  than  can  be  told  in  words,  for  they 
would  take  a  wide  range,  and  therein  they  would  denote 
the  versatility  which  was  one  of  her  prominent  char- 
acteristics. They  would  show  her  in  heroines  of  Shake- 
speare; in  the  women  of  Old  English  Comedy;  in  char- 
acters of  modern  comedy, — a  theatrical  fabric  much 
tinged   with   farce, — and   in   characters   that   are   almost 


ADA    REHAN  143 

tragical.  She  was  eminently  successful,  and  the  field 
of  thought  in  which,  obviously,  she  must  have  deeply 
studied,  is  extensive,  diversified,  and  important;  so  that 
her  success  was  an  eloquent  denoteme»t  of  her  ele- 
mental power  and  her  various  ability.  In  the  experi- 
ence of  Ada  Rehan,  however,  as  in  that  of  other  actors, 
it  was  shown  that  the  dramatic  faculty  becomes,  in 
time,  defined  and  restricted  as  to  its  natural,  and  there- 
fore its  best,  expression  by  peculiarities  and  limitations 
of  temperament,  which  assign  it  to  special  types  of 
human  nature  and  to  various  modifications  of  them. 
Miss  Rehan  did  not  begin  at  the  top,  but  humbly,  in 
a  minor  character  and  at  a  provincial  theatre,  and  from 
that  lowly  station  she  rose  to  the  rank  of  the  leading 
woman  in  the  leading  theatre  of  America.  In  that 
progress  she  developed  an  original,  brilliant  personality, 
and  by  her  natural  aptitude  for  the  mood  of  buoy- 
ant raillery  which  plays  over  a  depth  of  tender  feel- 
ing she  proved  herself  born  for  the  province  of  the 
comedian. 

The  American  Stage,  viewing  it  as  a  national  institu- 
tion, has  only  of  comparatively  late  years  become  an 
independent  power.  It  was  built  by  British  actors. 
The  moment  you  begin  to  inquire  into  the  origin  of  the 
dramatic  luminaries  of  the  first  century  of  the  American 
Theatre  you  are  surprised  to  find  how  many  of  them 
were  wanderers  from  the  British  Isles;  and  even  within 
the  last  seventy  years  the  record  shows  a  continuous  influx 


144  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

of  the  dramatic  spirit  of  the  motherland.  Among  the 
actors  who  have  exercised  special  influence  upon  the 
American  Stage  since  1750  scarcely  more  than  a  score 
could  he  named  who  were  born  in  America.  With  the 
advent  of  Edwin  Forrest  and  Charlotte  Cushman  the 
tide  began  to  turn,  and  since  then  the  Theatre  in 
America  has  expanded  and  arisen  under  the  influence 
of  such  native-born  Americans  as  Edward  Loomis 
Davenport,  Edwin  Booth,  William  Warren,  Joseph 
Jefferson,  Lawrence  Barrett,  Lester  Wallack,  John 
Gilbert,  Edwin  Adams,  Genevieve  Ward,  Mary  Ander- 
son, Fanny  Davenport,  and  Minnie  Maddern  Fiske. 
One  of  the  most  distinctive  products  of  the  American 
Stage  is  Clara  INI  orris,  but  Miss  Morris  was  born  in 
Canada.  Ada  Rehan,  though  a  native  of  Ireland,  gained 
her  experience  and  her  rank  in  America.  Like  many 
other  sparkling  persons  born  in  the  land  of  Oliver  Gold- 
smith and  Margaret  Woffington,  Miss  Rehan  possessed 
that  temperament  of  tremulous  sensibility  which  oscillates 
between  smiles  and  tears,  but,  unlike  many  of  her 
tumultuous  compatriots,  she  evinced  an  equable  mind 
and  that  complete  mental  control  of  her  faculties  and 
her  artistic  resources  which  is  the  main  constituent  of 
intellectual  character.  Her  performances,  therefore, 
not  only  captured  the  heart  of  her  time  but  convinced 
its  judgment.  They  were  veritable  impersonations, 
much  diversified,  but  strongly  marked — as  they  ought 
to   be — with    the   individualism    of    the   actor,    and    that 


ADA    REHAN  145 

gave  to  them  their  chief  value.  Many  actors,  like  many 
writers,  leave  their  works,  as  they  pass  through  the 
world,  much  as  a  carpenter  might  leave  a  fabric  of  his 
craft  that  had  been  purchased  from  him:  the  job  is 
done  and  the  goods  are  delivered.  Such  actors  put  noth- 
ing of  themselves  into  their  art.  The  product  of  their 
effort  may  be  useful,  but  it  is  colorless  and  cold,  and 
no  one  regards  it  or  remembers  it.  Ada  Rehan  was, 
from  the  first,  exceptional  for  intense  earnestness  and 
self-devotion.  Each  part  that  she  undertook  was  per- 
meated with  something  of  herself,  and  was  played  as 
well  as  she  could  possibly  play  it.  Her  soul  was  given 
to  her  profession,  and  the  nature  of  the  woman  herself 
was  discerned  in  that  of  the  characters  she  best  rep- 
resented. Exigent  observers  of  acting  have  been  known 
to  object  to  that  sincerity  in  an  actor,  maintaining  that 
the  only  true  actor  is  he  who  utterly  sinks  his  identit)^ 
and  comes  on  so  well  disguised  that  he  cannot  be  recog- 
nized. That  might  be  a  valuable  accomplishment  in  a 
detective  policeman,  but  it  is  a  trivial  accomplishment 
in  a  dramatic  artist.  The  faculty  of  taking  on  many 
shapes  is  one  of  the  primitive  faculties  of  dramatic 
art  and  it  makes  a  good  mimic,  but  expertness  in  the 
assumption  of  disguises  is  not  skill  in  the  impersonation 
of  character.  The  interpreter  of  human  nature  must 
go  far  deeper  than  that.  Neither  is  it  ever  desirable  that 
an  actor  should  so  far  be  obscured  in  what  he  represents 
that    his    spiritual    identity,    his    personal    quality,    shall 


146  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

disappear.  The  woman  who  plays  Juliet  must  represent 
Juliet's  love,  not  her  own;  yet  it  is  with  her  own  voice, 
her  eyes,  her  demeanor  and  ways  that  she  must  represent 
this,  and  the  passion  of  her  heart,  the  glow  of  her  spirit, 
the  charm  of  her  personality,  her  knowledge  of  the 
nature  and  extent  of  human  experience,  must  enter 
into  the  emotion  and  into  the  personality  that  she 
assumes  to  portray.  Murillo  painted  many  contrasted 
subjects,  but  every  painting  by  Murillo  bears  the  unmis- 
takable stamp  of  his  individualism  and  would  be  worth- 
less without  it.  A  true  actor  will  show  many  different 
persons,  but  in  one  respect  they  will  be  the  same, — 
and  ought  to  be  the  same, — in  the  pervasive  and  domi- 
nant attribute  of  his  genius.  The  quality  that  makes 
a  performance  specifically  and  distinctively  that  of 
Ellen  Terry,  or  Sarah  Bernhardt,  or  Julia  Marlowe,  or 
Ada  Rehan,  must  be  present,  or  the  performance  may 
as  well  be  that  of  somebody  else, — anybody, — a  wooden 
image,  for  example,  that  is  worked  with  strings.  Ada 
Rehan  manifested  not  only  the  art  to  personify  but  the 
power  to  impress  herself  upon  her  embodiments;  and, 
therefore,  whoever  remembers  the  matchless  figure  of 
Shakespeare's  Katharine  that  she  set  on  the  stage  will 
also  remember  the  imperial  presence,  the  impassioned 
face,  the  gray  eyes  flashing  with  pride  and  scorn  or 
melting  with  tenderness,  the  fine  freedom  of  graceful 
demeanor,  the  supple  beauty  of  movement  and  the 
exquisite  loveliness  of  voice  which  combined  in  the  inves- 


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ADA   REHAN  147 

titure  that  the  actress  gave  to  the  part,  and  which  were 
the  close  denotements  of  her  personality. 

The   long   list   of   parts   that   have   been   represented 
by   Ada   Rehan    since    1873    indicates,    as    nothing    else 
can    do,    the    versatility    of    the    actress    and    the    drift, 
variety,  and  scope  of  her  study  and  experience.     Reso- 
lute   but    not    presumptuous    courage    was    one    of    her 
characteristic  virtues,  and  she  did  not  hesitate  to  attempt 
new  characters  or  to  assume  old  ones,  however  difficult 
or  however  renowned.     Her  mental  attitude  was  always 
that   of  a   mind   which   thinks   for  itself.      The   veteran 
actors,  indeed,  with  whom  she  was  from  time  to  time 
associated    imparted    to    her    the    traditional    "business" 
of  many  plays.     It  is  in  that  way  that  the  traditions 
are  preserved.     Augustin  Daly,  a  close  observer  and  a 
diligent   and   practical    student    of   the   Theatre    during 
many  years  of  active  relationship  with  its  affairs,   also 
aided  in  her  professional  education.    Many  actors  receive 
benefits  of  that  kind,  in  their  upward  progress,   which 
some  of  them  are  slow  to  appreciate  and  quick  to  forget. 
Miss  Rehan  understood  them  and  often  expressed  to  me 
her  sense  of  their  value.     Such  help  doubtless  facilitated 
her  advancement,  but  in  the  main  her  victory  was  due 
to  personal  charm,  originality  of  mind,  acute  and  win- 
ning sensibility,  abundant  animal  spirits,  a  gleeful  dis- 
tinction, affluent  personal  beauty,  an  extraordinary  fac- 
ulty as  well  as  an  irresistible  impulse  for  dramatic  art, 
and  the  spontaneous  custom  of  looking  at  character  with 


U8  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

her  own  eyes  and  acting  each  part  in  a  natural  manner. 
A  great  merit  of  the  acting  of  Miss  Rehan  was  its  free- 
dom from  affectation.  Her  Old  Comedy  performances 
afforded  conspicuous  illustration  of  that  merit,  and  of 
her  custom  of  going  directly  to  the  author's  text  for  his 
meaning  and  directly  to  Nature  for  the  inspiration  of  her 
art.  To  be  simple  and  natural  on  the  stage  of  to-day, 
in  compositions  so  local  and  particular  as  those  of  Van- 
brugh,  Wycherley,  Cibber,  and  Farquhar,  is  not  "a 
property  of  easiness,"  yet  Miss  Rehan  embodied  Miss 
Hoyden,  Peggy  Thrift,  Hippolyta,  Sylvia,  and  Oriana, 
and  she  made  those  parts  appreciable  to  contemporary 
intelligence  and  sympathetic  with  modern  taste.  No 
actress  of  our  time  ever  exhibited  a  happier  faculty  or  a 
more  flexible  method  of  infusing  her  personal  vitality 
into  the  old  forms.  "The  Country  Wife," — a  comedy 
that  Wycherley,  with  silken  skill  but  feculent  fancy, 
deduced  from  the  satire  of  Moliere,  had  to  be  greatly 
modified  before  it  could  be  shown  to  the  more  decent 
audience  of  a  later  day.  Garrick  converted  it  into  "The 
Country  Girl,"  and  Augustin  Daly  refined  the  texture 
of  the  Garrick  fabric  before  introducing  it  on  the  Ameri- 
can Stage.  The  result  was  a  comical  image  of  demurely 
mischievous  girlhood,  and  that  was  personified  by  Ada 
Rehan  in  a  mood  of  bewitching  ingenuousness  and 
rippling  frolic.  The  ideal  is  that  of  an  apparently  simple 
girl,  who,  in  practice  of  the  wiles  of  love  and  court- 
ship, comically  develops  a  sudden  and  astonishing  dex- 


ADA    REHAN  149 

terity.  The  mixture  of  candor  and  quaintness  in  Miss 
Rehan's  manner,  giving  zest  to  exuberant  personal 
charms,  invested  that  performance  with  a  singular  fas- 
cination, concealing  all  the  faults  of  the  character,  which, 
undeniably,   are  vanity,  coquetry,  and  deceitfulness. 

In  producing  those  Old  English  Comedies  Daly  found 
it  essential  to  alter  each  of  them,  in  some  particulars. 
Adverting  to  the  lax  times  when  they  were  written, 
the  spectator  is  not  surprised  at  that  precautionary 
exercise  of  prudence  and  taste.  "The  Country  Wife" 
dates  back  to  1675;  "The  Inconstant,"  to  1702;  "She 
Would  and  She  Would  Not,"  to  1703;  "The  Recruiting 
Officer,"  to  1705,  and  "The  Critic,"  to  1781.  In  his 
arrangement  of  "The  Critic"  Daly  used  many  additions 
that  originated  with  Charles  Mathews,  whose  incisive, 
trenchant,  sapient  impersonation  of  Mr.  Puff  cannot 
have  been  forgotten  by  any  one  who  had  the  privilege 
of  seeing  it;  but  while  "The  Critic,"  as  Sheridan  con- 
structed it,  on  the  basis  of  Buckingham's  "Rehearsal," 
is  an  ample  three-act  piece,  Daly's  version  is  condensed 
into  one  act.  It  was  presented  at  Daly's  Theatre  on 
December  26,  1888,  and  later  revived.  Changes  in 
that  play  are  invariably  made,  as  often  as  it  is  acted, 
merely  on  the  ground  of  expediency,  and  not  as  a 
matter  of  either  morality  or  taste.  It  has  long  been 
the  custom  to  introduce  local  "gags"  into  "The  Critic," 
and  to  vary  its  nomenclature,  according  to  the  com- 
pany   that    might    happen    to    be    representing    it.      In 


150  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

that  way  the  apposite  significance  of  the  farce  is 
preserved  for  each  succeeding  generation.  When  the 
Duke  of  Buckingham  produced  vThe  Rehearsal"  (it 
was  begun  in  1663  but  was  not  brought  out  till  1671) 
he  directed  its  chief  shaft  of  satire  against  Dryden, 
who  was  imaged  in  the  character  of  Bayes.  When 
Sheridan  produced  'The  Critic"  he  ridiculed  his  con- 
temporary Richard  Cumberland,  who  is  indicated  in 
Sir  Fretful  Plagiary.  But  no  drift  of  that  sort  ani- 
mates the  play  for  later  times,  and  in  order  that  it 
may  be  made  significant  and  piquant  to  a  contemporary 
audience  its  satirical  mirth  is  poured  upon  false  methods 
in  acting  as  well  as  upon  false  taste  in  composition. 
The  vanity  of  actors  and  the  absurd  side  of  stage-tradi- 
tion are  made  ridiculous  in  it,  nor  is  it  devoid  of  an 
implication  of  satire  upon  the  caprice  and  the  dulness 
possible  to  an  audience.  Ada  Rehan,  as  Tilburina, 
proved  herself  possessed  of  the  true  instinct  and  faculty 
of  burlesque,  for  in  the  acting  of  that  part  she  main- 
tained an  air  of  intense  earnestness,  amounting  to  posi- 
tive solemnity;  she  was  seemingly  both  passionate  and 
pathetic;  and  she  uttered  the  bombastic  nonsense  of 
Tilburina's  inflated  speeches  with  profound  -and  fervid 
sincerity.  Her  quick  lapses  from  a  serious  manner  to 
that  of  petulant  impatience  and  commonplace  colloquy 
had  an  irresistible  effect  equally  of  truth  and  of  invol- 
untary humor.  The  faculty  that  especially  appertains 
to  an  actor,  that  of  assuming  character  and  emotion  at 


ADA    REHAN  151 

will,  was  conspicuously  illustrated  in  that  fine  per- 
formance, for  in  Tilburinas  Mad  Scene, — as  also  in  that 
of  Farquhar's  Oriana, — the  actress  displayed  a  depth 
of  feeling  and  a  power  that  Avould  be  appropriate  and 
not  inadequate  even  to  the  delicate,  beautiful,  exacting 
part  of  Shakespeare's  Ophelia.  It  is  an  old  story  that 
the  best  comedian  is  an  actor  of  deep  heart  and  serious 
disposition.  When  Ada  Rehan  embodied  Mile.  Rose,  the 
Priest's  sister,  in  Coppee's  striking  drama  of  "The 
Prayer,"  no  one  acquainted  with  her  nature  was  sur- 
prised at  the  elemental  passion,  the  pathos,  and  the 
almost  tragic  power  with  which  she  expressed  a  devoted 
woman's  experience  of  affliction,  misery,  fierce  resent- 
ment, self-conquest,  self-abnegation,  forgiveness,  and 
fortitude.  She  did  not  then,  nor  at  any  time,  show 
herself  to  be  a  tragic  actress,  but  she  evinced  great  force 
and  deep  feeling.  Quin's  remark  about  Mrs.  Cibber, 
when  Garrick  expressed  to  him  a  doubt  that  she  could 
play  Shakespeare's  Constance,  could  well  have  been 
applied  to  Miss  Rehan:  "That  woman,"  he  cried, 
"has  a  heart  and  can  do  anything  where  passion  is 
required." 

Yet  it  is  not  distinctively  in  characters  of  passion  that 
Miss  Rehan  gained  her  fame.  Helena  and  Katharine, 
indeed,  are  passionate  persons,  but  not  in  the  sense  in 
which  Constance  is  passionate,  or  Juliet,  or  Queen 
Margaret,  or  Otway's  Belvidera,  or  Congreve's  Zara. 
In  Helena,  who  is  not  less  noble  than  affectionate,  the 


152  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

violent  infatuation  of  love  for  Demetrius,  struggling 
against  self-esteem  and  prevailing  over  reticence  of  char- 
acter and  maidenly  reserve,  creates  a  state  of  grieved 
passion  not  less  afflicting  to  its  victim  than  touching  to 
her  sympathetic  observers.  Miss  Rehan  struck  that 
note  with  perfect  precision,  and  it  is  seldom  that  the 
Stage  presents  such  a  form  of  gentle,  forlorn,  and  win- 
ning sweetness  and  beauty  as  the  Helena  of  that  actress 
was,  when  seeking  to  break  away  from  the  wrangle  of 
the  lovers  in  the  forest,  dejected  and  submissive,  asking 
only  that  she  might  be  allowed  to  go,  and  saying,  in  the 
soft  accents  of  hopeless  sorrow,  "You  see  how  simple 
and  how  fond  I  am."  In  Katharine  the  passion  is 
confused;  it  mingles  many  ingredients;  but  chiefly  it 
is  that  of  a  tumultuous  and  tempestuous  temper.  A 
strong  woman  every  way,  Katharine  at  first  revolts 
against  every  sort  of  curb  or  control,  and  especially 
against  the  sweet,  loving,  ardent  impulses  inherent  in 
her  own  nature.  There  is  tremendous  vehemence  in 
Katharine,  but  also  there  is  incipient  tenderness,  and, 
therefore,  there  is  self-conflict;  and  it  was  a  special  and 
signal  beauty  of  Ada  Rehan's  impersonation  of  Kath- 
arine that  she  indicated  this  by  subtle  denotements,  and 
was  not  merely  a  whirlwind  of  combative  rage.  All 
the  passion  that  is  warranted,  or  that  could  be  desired, 
was  expressed,  but  the  crown  of  the  assumption  was  a 
woman-like  charm, — an  admixture  of  tremulous  sensi- 
bility and  kind,  caressing,  cherishing   ardor  and   good- 


ADA    REHAN  153 

ness;  the  something  that  makes  a  woman's  love  the  best 
blessing  that  there  is  in  human  life.  That  attribute, 
rather  than  the  attribute  of  passion,  was  the  predomi- 
nant and  distinctive  characteristic  of  Miss  Rehan's  dra- 
matic art.  No  one  would  have  expected  her  to  prosper 
in  the  sanguinary  queens  of  the  ancient  classic  stage  or 
in  the  empurpled  criminals  of  modern  melodrama.  For 
such  a  nature  the  Medeas,  Phccdras,  Theodoras,  and 
Toscas  are  out  of  the  question.  It  is  woman  in  her 
lovelier  aspects  that  was  portrayed  by  Miss  Rehan; 
woman  at  her  best  that  was  suggested  by  her;  and 
her  success  was  the  more  honorable  to  herself,  and  the 
more  beneficent  to  the  public,  for  that  reason. 

One  of  the  most  womanlike  of  all  the  women  that 
have  been  drawn  in  Old  Comedy  is  Farquhar's  Oriana, 
and  Miss  Rehan's  performance  of  that  part  was  in  her 
best  manner.  Oriana  is  skilful  in  coquetry,  and  she 
makes  a  dexterous  use  of  many  wiles  in  order  to  sub- 
due and  capture  the  restless,  capricious,  vagrant  spirit 
of  the  exigent,  adventurous,  roving  Mirabel;  but  she 
dearly  loves  him,  she  would  die  for  him,  and  she  becomes 
heroic  and  splendid  in  his  service, — saving  his  life  by  her 
indomitable  nerve  and  discreet  and  expeditious  energy. 
In  male  attire,  which  she  assumed  in  Oriana,  Sylvia, 
Hippolyta,  Peggy  Thrift,  Pierrot,  Moclwoorld,  Shake- 
speare's Julia,  Viola,  and  Rosalind,  Ada  Rehan  was 
particularly  captivating;  and,  indeed,  the  spectator 
was    surprised    at    the    number    and    variety    of    male 


154  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

peculiarities  that  she  was  able  to  imitate.     Her  assump- 
tion of  the  swaggering  gallant,    when  Sylvia  puts   on 
man's  apparel,  would  have  bewitched  the  sternest  judg- 
ment.     No   performer    on   the   American    Stage,    since 
the  halcyon  days  of  Mrs.  Barrow  and  Mrs.  Wood,  had 
approximated    to    her    brilliancy    of    expression    of    the 
gay  audacity  and  elegant  insolence  of  Hippolyta,  when 
masquerading  as  Don  Philip,  and  denouncing  the  actual 
Don  as  an  impostor,  in  the  home  of  Don  Manuel.    Yet, 
after   all,   even   in   male   attire   and   when   meeting    the 
exigencies  of  the  scene  by  pretending  to  be  a  man,  it 
was   the  intrinsic  charm  of  womanhood   that  illumined 
her  art  and  invested  it  with  the  authentic  attribute  of 
enchantment.     That  charm   was   of   rare   opulence   and 
variety,   and   Miss    Rehan's   rapid   conquest   and   secure 
retention   of  public   favor   in   the   capitals   of  the    New 
World  and   of  the   Old   were   explained   chiefly   by   it. 
When  she  assumed  Rosalind,  the  capability  of  personal 
fascination  made  her  immediately  successful  in  that  char- 
acter,— of  all  Shakespeare's  women  the  one  which,  per- 
haps, is  the  most  readily  appreciable,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  is  the  most  frequently  in  controversy.     Her  way 
of    acting   that   part   was    to   be    a   gleeful  -yet    loving 
woman,   and  not  a  poetical   conceit  or  a   metaphysical 
abstraction.      Rosalind   is    not    "of    the    earth,    earthy," 
but  neither  is  she  made  of  mist  and  moonbeams.     The 
blood  dances  merrily  in  her  veins,  and  the  fires  of  ardent 
desire    equally    with    the   glad    lights    of    happy   mirth 


ADA    REHAN  155 

sparkle  in  her  eyes.  She  is  a  lover  and  not  ashamed  of 
her  love,— which,  indeed,  like  everything  else  about  her, 
is  natural,  simple,  spontaneous,  and  pure.  It  is  the 
vain  effort  to  rear  upon  the  basis  of  Shakespeare's 
text,  in  "As  You  Like  It,"  a  superstructure  of  vague, 
ethereal,  elusive,  strained,  complex  character  and  recon- 
dite meaning  that  has  perplexed  the  stage  ideal  of 
Rosalind  and  made  it  seem  almost  inaccessible;  but  the 
cloudy  refinements  cast  about  that  part  by  theorists 
are  nowhere  to  be  found  in  the  play.  Miss  Rehan's 
simple  method  of  treating  it  was  therefore  a  great 
refreshment.  She  was  naturally  noble  and  free.  She 
made  no  declaration  of  superiority  and  had  no  need  to 
announce  that  her  intentions  were  virtuous.  Her 
demeanor  showed  not  the  slightest  trace  of  that  self- 
consciousness  which  creates  indelicacy  in  parts  of  this 
order.  She  was  the  image  of  youth,  beauty,  happiness, 
merriment,  and  of  an  absorbing  and  triumphant  love. 
When  she  dashed  through  the  trees  of  Arden,  snatch- 
ing the  verses  of  Orlando  from  their  boughs,  and  cast 
herself  at  the  foot  of  a  great  elm,  to  read  those  fond 
messages  that  Rosalind's  heart  instantly  and  instinc- 
tively ascribes  to  their  right  source,  her  gray  eyes  were 
brilliant  with  tender  joy;  her  cheeks  were  flushed;  her 
whole  person,  in  its  graceful  abandonment  of  posture, 
seemed  to  express  an  ecstasy  of  happy  vitality  and  of 
victorious  delight;  her  hands  that  held  the  written 
scrolls  trembled  with  eager,  tumultuous,   grateful  joy; 


156  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

the  voice  with  which  she  read  her  lover's  words  made 
soft  cadences  of  them  and  seemed  to  caress  every  sylla- 
ble; and  as  the  last  rhyme, 

"Let  no  face  be  kept  in  mind, 
But  the  fair  of  Rosalind," 

fell  from  her  lips,  like  a  drop  of  liquid  silver,  the 
exquisite  music  of  her  speech  seemed  to  die  away  in 
one  soft  sigh  of  pleasure.  While,  however,  she  thus 
denoted  the  passionate  heart  of  Rosalind  and  her  ample 
bliss  of  sensation  and  exultant  yet  tender  pride  of  con- 
quest, she  never  once  relaxed  the  tension  of  her  glee. 
In  an  ordinary  representation  of  "As  You  Like  It'* 
the  interest  commonly  declines  after  the  Third  Act, 
if  not  earlier,  from  lack  of  exuberant  physical  vitality 
and  of  the  propulsive  force  of  sympathetic  mirth  in 
Rosalind.  When  Ada  Rehan  played  the  part  the  per- 
formance only  grew  richer  and  merrier  as  it  proceeded, 
— developing  the  exuberant  nature  and  glad  experience 
of  a  loving  and  enchanting  woman,  who  sees  the  whole 
world  suffused  with  golden  light,  irradiated  from  her 
own  happy  heart,  her  healthful  and  brilliant  mind,  her 
buoyant  spirit  and  inexhaustible  goodness  and  joy. 

The  inspiration  of  the  character  of  Viola  is  com- 
mingled love  and  mirth.  She  is  a  woman  of  deep  sen- 
sibility, and  in  that  way  Ada  Rehan  comprehended 
and  embodied  her, — permitting  a  wistful  sadness  to 
glimmer  through  the  gauze  of  sweet,  winning  vivacity 
with    which    her    bright    and    gentle    figure    is    artfully 


>f   the  Author, 


ADA     REHAN 
as 

Rosalind,  in   "As  You   Like   It." 


ADA    REHAN  157 

swathed.  That  was  the  pervading  beauty  of  the  imper- 
sonation. The  frolic  scenes  in  which  Viola  participates 
elicited  Ada  Rehan's  natural  propensity  for  mirth,  as 
also  her  faculty  for  comic  action.  She  rejoiced  in 
them,  and  she  made  her  auditors  rejoice  in  them.  But 
the  underlying  cause  of  her  success  in  them  was  the 
profound  sincerity  of  her  feeling, — over  which  her  joy 
was  seen  to  play  as  moonlight  plays  on  the  rippling 
surface  of  the  ocean.  In  that  embodiment  she  relied 
on  a  soft  and  gentle  poetry  of  condition,  avoiding  the 
expedient  of  strong  emphasis,  whether  of  color, 
demeanor,  or  speech.  Her  action  was  exceedingly  deli- 
cate, and  if  at  any  moment  she  became  conspicuous  in 
a  scene  it  was  as  the  consequence  of  dramatic  necessity, 
not  of  self-assertion.  Reserve  and  aristocratic  distinc- 
tion blended  in  the  performance,  and  dignified  and 
endeared  it.  The  melody  of  Shakespeare's  verse, — 
especially  in  the  passage  of  Violas  renunciation, — fell 
from  her  lips  in  a  strain  of  fluent  sweetness  that  enhanced 
its  beauty  and  deepened  the  pathos  of  its  tender  sig- 
nificance. In  such  tones  the  heart  speaks,  and  not 
simply  the  fervor  of  an  excited  mind,  and  so  the  incom- 
municable something  that  the  soul  knows  of  love  and 
sorrow  finds  expression.  Ada  Rehan  was  admirably 
true  to  the  Shakespearean  ideal  in  that  particular,  as 
also  she  was  in  expressing  the  large  generosity  of  Viola 
toward  Olivia's  beauty.  It  is  only  a  woman  intrinsically 
noble  who  can  be  just  toward  her  prosperous  rival  in 


158  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

love.     Ada  Rchan,  in  her  embodiment  of  Viola,  obeyed 
the  fine  artistic  impulse  to  make  no  effort.     Her  per- 
formance was  as  natural  and  as  lovely  as  the  opening 
of  the  rose.     She  permitted  the  pensive  tenderness  and 
the  sweet  gravity  which  are  in   her  nature  to  permeate 
her  portraiture  of  the  character,  and  to  express  them- 
selves honestly  and  simply.     Her  elocution  was  perfect, 
— concealing    premeditation,    and    flowing,    as    a    brook 
flows,  with  continuous  music  and  spontaneous,  accidental 
variety.    She  wore  the  boy-dress  with  grace.    No  woman 
can  have  played   the  boy  better.     Her  by-play,  in  the 
scene  in  which  Viola  attends  Orsino  while  he  is  listening 
to  Feste's  song,  was  a  striking  evidence  of  the  inspira- 
tion  of  genius.     Her   stage   business   was   mostly   new. 
Her  appearance  was  beautiful.     Her  witchery  in  Viola 
did  not  reside  in  her  action, — although  that  was  appro- 
priate, dignified,  symmetrical,   expressive,  and   winning, 
— but  in  her  assumption  and   preservation  of  a   sweet, 
resigned    patience;    not   despairing,    not   lachrymose, — a 
gentle,  wistful  aspect  and  state  of  romantic  melancholy, 
veiled,  but  not  concealed,  beneath  a  guise  of  buoyant, 
careless    joy.      The    fine    instinct    with   which    she    thus 
comprehended  and  revealed  the  soul  of  Viola,  together 
with  the  wildwood  freedom  and  limpid  fluency  of  her 
action  and  the  air  at  once  of  sensuous  allurement  and 
spiritual   loveliness   with   which   she    invested   her   ideal, 
manifested  a  poetic  actress  of  the  first  order. 

There  are  many  actors  of  whom  the  playgoer  thinks 


ADA    REHAN  159 

with  interest  and  mild  approbation,  but  it  is  only  of  the 
few  that  he  thinks  with  enthusiasm.  Ada  Rehan  is 
one  of  the  few,  and  always  the  mention  of  her  name 
awakened  and  still  awakens  a  thrill  of  sympathy. 
Beauty,  genius,  a  kind  heart,  and  rare  technical  skill, — 
attributes  seldom  united  in  one  person, — were  united 
in  her,  and  those  attributes,  in  their  union,  constitute 
a  power  such  as  must  always  play  a  serious  part  in 
human  affairs.  Practical  minds  may  despise  and  con- 
temn the  idea  of  sentiment  as  to  an  actress;  but  each 
succeeding  generation  of  youth  has  its  heroines  of  the 
Stage,  who  exert  upon  it,  at  the  most  sensitive  and  sus- 
ceptible period  of  life, — coloring  its  ideals,  affecting  its 
ambitions,  and  aiding  to  form  its  character, — an  influ- 
ence both  profound  and  permanent.  Anne  Bracegirdle 
is  said  to  have  possessed  a  prodigious  power  of  that 
kind,  in  her  day,  and  so  doubtless,  at  a  later  time,  did 
Peg  Woffington,  and  Sarah  Siddons,  and  Dora  Jordan, 
and  so  certainly  did  Ellen  Tree  and  Adelaide  Neilson. 
There  is  scarcely  a  memoir  of  a  distinguished  man 
within  the  last  hundred  years  that  does  not  show  him, 
at  an  early,  and  sometimes  at  a  late,  period  of  his 
career,  in  subservience  to  the  spell  of  genius  and  art 
diffused  from  the  Stage  by  a  beautiful  woman.  Even 
as  great,  reserved,  and  serious  a  scholar  as  Matthew 
Arnold  has  recorded  that  he  followed  from  city  to 
city  in  order  to  see  the  French  actress  Rachel.  How 
essential  it  is  that  this  artistic  influence  should  be  noble 


160  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

every  thinker  will  at  once  feel  and  concede,  for  its 
consequences  are  momentous  and  endless.  The  time 
was  Messed  beyond  its  knowledge  of  its  own  welfare 
that  was  favored  with  the  presence  and  influence  of 
Ada  llehan.  If  fifty  years  had  passed  away  and  she 
had  become  a  memory,  there  would  be  no  reluctance  in 
the  general  admission  of  the  truth.  The  word  that  then 
would  be  said  with  pensive  regret  can  now,  accordingly, 
be  said  with  grateful  admiration.  For  the  audience  of 
her  generation  this  actress  was  a  representative  image 
and  an  authentic  voice.  Her  experience  has  become 
to  some  extent  their  experience,  and  her  testimony 
as  to  each  elemental  impulse  and  feeling  of  human 
nature,  transmitted  through  the  potencies  of  dramatic 
art,  has  largely  contributed  to  shape  their  views  and 
establish  their  convictions.  For  many  a  day  the  stand- 
ard of  dramatic  art  that  she  erected  in  Shakespeare's 
Rosalind  and  in  Farquhar's  Oriana,  in  Lady  Teazle, 
Peggy  Thrift,  and  Letitia  Hardy  will  maintain  itself 
with  inexorable  authority  upon  the  Stage,  while  the 
ideals  of  passionate  and  tender  womanhood  that  she 
embodied  in  Katharine,  Helena,  Viola,  Sister  Rose, 
Kate  Verity,  and  Knowles's  Julia  will  crystallize  in  the 
popular  imagination  and  enkindle  and  charm  the  popu- 
lar heart. 

Another  Shakespearean  character  in  which  Ada 
Rehan  proved  proficient  and  charming  is  Mrs.  Ford, 
in  "The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor."     That  play  shows 


ADA    REHAN  161 

the  art  by  which  adroitly  humorous  treatment  can  be 
made  to  palliate  vulgarity  of  subject.  Two  sprightly 
women  undertake  and  accomplish  the  discomfiture  of 
a  vicious,  presumptuous,  ridiculous  suitor.  Such  a 
frolic  might  be  possible  at  any  time  and  in  any 
place.  The  two  wives,  Mrs.  Ford  and  Mrs.  Page,  are 
virtuous  women,  but  they  are  not  fastidious, — indeed, 
they  are  coarse.  Mrs.  Ford  is  a  ripe,  buxom,  captivat- 
ing woman,  overflowing  with  animal  spirits  and  fond 
of  innocent  mischief, — in  the  expedients  of  which  she  is 
fertile  and  dexterous.  She  looks  upon  the  amorous 
Falstaff  with  amused  tolerance  which  scarcely  amounts 
to  contempt.  She  will  thoroughly  fool  and  rebuke  him, 
and  will  throw  him  aside  with  precisely  the  sort  of 
punishment  that  will  plunge  him  into  absurdity  and 
humiliation.  But  she  is  not  malicious,  neither  does 
she  harbor  resentment.  The  right  personification  of 
Mrs.  Ford  involves  innate  purity  and  spontaneous, 
unequivocal  moral  worth,  combined  with  a  buoyant 
spirit  of  frolicsome  mischief  and  an  arch,  demure, 
piquant  manner.  Miss  Rehan  entered  fully  into  the 
spirit  of  the  part  and  flashed  through  the  piece  like  a 
sunbeam.  The  reality  of  that  embodiment  was  especially 
vital.  In  Mrs.  Ford,  as  in  Sylvia,  Miss  Rehan  pre- 
sented a  woman  in  whom  an  exuberant  and  sportive 
animal  life  transcends  all  other  attributes.  And,  indeed, 
one  way  or  another,  subject  to  various  modifications, 
that  element  entered  into  all  her  comedy  assumptions, 


162  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

particularly  the  blooming  damsels  and  spirited  widows 
of  the  comedy  of  to-day.  Doris,  in  "An  International 
Match,"  and  Nisbe,  in  "A  Night  Off,"  are  good  types 
of  the  eager,  sprightly,  happy  girl  whom  she  portrayed 
with  infectious  buoyancy  and  in  the  spontaneous,  flex- 
ible, limpid  drift  of  nature.  Cousin  Vol, — Valentine 
Osprey, — in  'The  Railroad  of  Love,"  embodies  that 
personality  in  even  a  more  substantial  form,  and  inter- 
fuses it  with  passionate  emotion.  In  Nisbe  there  is 
latent  mischief  commingled  with  an  artful  assumption 
of  girlish  coyness.  In  Cousin  Vol  a  deep  heart  is 
veiled  beneath  an  almost  reckless  gayety  of  manner, 
and  much  tenderness  of  feeling  becomes  visible  through 
an  outward  guise  of  raillery  and  gleeful  indifference. 
Miss  Rehan's  expression  of  the  resentment  of  offended 
pride  and  wounded  love,  in  the  scene  of  the  misunder- 
standing in  that  piece,  is  remembered  for  its  splendid 
sincerity,  its  fine  fervor,  and  its  absolute  simplicity  of 
art.  The  play  treats  of  an  impending  breach  between 
two  sincere  lovers  and  of  the  happy  chance  by  which 
that  catastrophe  is  averted.  An  impulsive  woman, 
momentarily  persuaded  that  her  suitor  is  a  mercenary 
adventurer,  has  sent  a  harsh  letter  of  dismissal  to  him, 
and  then  has  ascertained  that  her  doubt  was  unfounded 
and  unworthy;  whereupon  she  perceives  the  imperative 
necessity  that  her  letter,  which  by  chance  has  not 
reached  him,  should  be  recovered.  Her  plan  is  to  detain 
him  during  her  quest  for  that  dreaded  epistle,  which  she 


ADA    REHAN  163 

will  obtain  and  destroy,  so  that  he  may  never  know  how 
unjust  and  how  cruel  her  thoughts  have  been.  The 
structure  of  the  situation  rests  on  unwarranted  panic, — 
since  Valentine  might  take  for  granted  her  lover's  par- 
don,— but  the  situation  itself  is  fraught  with  formidable 
significance  and  suffused  with  passionate  excitement. 
Miss  Rehan  made  it  important  and  impressive.  Her 
denotement  of  the  conflict  of  passion  when  writing  the 
letter  lifted  Valentine  almost  to  the  high  level  of  Julia 
in  a  kindred  passage  in  "The  Hunchback,"  while  her 
subsequent  contrition  and  dismay,  her  effort  to  subdue 
a  feverish  apprehension,  and  to  conceal  her  anxiety 
under  a  playful  manner,  together  with  her  grieved  yet 
gay  trepidation  while  imposing  upon  her  lover  the 
frivolous  task  of  doing  a  bit  of  embroidery,  were  all 
made  confluent  in  a  current  of  singular  sweetness  and 
were  swathed  in  the  tremulous  April  atmosphere  of 
smiles  and  tears.  That  assumption  of  character,  not 
inaptly  representative  of  contemporary  young  women, 
in  the  sentimental  aspect  of  their  lives,  was  remarkable 
equally  for  the  variety  and  sparkle  of  its  constituent 
parts  and  for  the  mingled  force  and  piquancy  of  its 
art,  for  it  was  an  image  of  airy  banter,  satirical  raillery, 
piquant  archness,  demure  mischief,  pungent  sarcasm, 
irrational,  tantalizing,  delicious  feminine  caprice,  nobility 
of  mind,  and  passionate  ardor  of  heart.  In  the  cen- 
turies that  have  passed  since  the  Drama  began  to  bear 
witness    to    human    nature    and    social   life    woman    has 


164  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

been  the  same  creature  of  infinite  variety  and  often  inex- 
plicable complexity,  herself  creative  and  therefore  uncon- 
sciously participant  in  the  insoluble  mystery  of  creation; 
but  in  each  succeeding  period  woman  has  existed  as  a 
social  type  with  distinguishing  traits  and  character- 
istics. In  Miss  Rehan's  period  she  conspicuously  showed 
the  attributes  that  were  crystallized  in  Miss  Rehan's 
embodiment  of  maids  like  Do?is  and  dames  like  Valen- 
tine. The  heroines  of  modern  comedy  are  seen  to  act 
from  the  same  motives  and  to  pursue  the  same  objects 
that  impel  and  attract  the  heroines  of  Cibber,  Farquhar, 
Mrs.  Centlivre,  Mrs.  Inchbald,  and  Sheridan;  yet  they 
are  essentially  of  a  different  order  of  thought  and  man- 
ner. The  modern  heroine  does  not  pique  her  roving 
swain  by  getting  into  male  attire  and  facing  him  down 
as  an  impostor;  neither  does  she  pretend  to  be  a  piteous 
lunatic  in  order  to  lure  him  out  of  his  intrenchments ; 
but  she  loves  as  dearly;  she  is  just  as  expert,  whether 
in  hiding  her  love  or  in  showing  it;  she  is  just  as  wishful 
to  captivate,  and  she  is  just  as  fitful  and  capricious,  as 
any  Hippolyta,  or  Oriana,  or  Sylvia,  or  Mrs.  Sullen,  or 
Violante,  or  Lydia  Languish,  that  ever  sparkled  on  the 
remote  British  Stage. 

The  successful  stage  representative  of  woman  proves 
true  to  the  specific  character  of  her  time  as  well  as  to 
the  elemental  and  permanent  character  of  her  sex.  She 
does  not  live  in  the  study  but  in  the  world.  Her  works 
are  personifications  and  not  historical  antiquities.     Miss 


ADA    REHAN  165 

Rehan  might  not  have  succeeded  in  reproducing  such 
fantastic  women  as  often  were  drawn  by  Jonson  and 
Dryden,  but  any  woman  of  the  Old  Comedy  who  is  really 
a  woman  would  have  become  as  vital  and  sympathetic 
in  her  embodiment  as  if  she  were  living  in  the  actual 
world  of  to-day.  It  is  for  the  lecturer  to  expound;  it 
is  for  the  actor  to  interpret.  Miss  Rehan,  like  her 
great  and  renowned  sister  in  dramatic  art,  Ellen  Terry, 
— the  most  distinctively  poetic  actress  of  her  period, — 
possessed  the  power  to  personify  and  could  give  the 
touch  of  reality.  The  young  women  of  her  day  saw 
themselves  in  Ada  Rehan's  portrayals  of  them.  The 
young  men  of  her  dajr  recognized  in  those  portrayals  the 
fulfilment  of  that  ideal  of  sensuous  sentiment,  piquant 
freedom,  and  impetuous  ardor,  combined  with  rich 
beauty  of  person  and  negligent  elegance  of  manner, 
which  they  accounted  the  perfection  of  womanhood,  and 
upon  which  their  fancy  dwelt  with  supreme  content. 
That  this  lovely  actress  could  move  easily  in  the  realm 
of  the  imagination  was  proved  by  her  fluent  and  spar- 
kling performances  of  Rosalind  and  Viola;  but  it  was 
more  significant,  for  the  great  bod}r  of  contemporary 
playgoers,  that  she  could  speak  in  the  voice,  and  look 
through  the  eyes,  and  interpret  the  spirit,  of  the  passing 
hour. 

Among  the  incidental  yet  notable  performances  given 
by  Miss  Rehan  there  were  two  which  strongly  suggested 
her  exceptional  versatility.     One  of  them  was  Xantippe, 


166  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

in  "The  Wife  of  Socrates";  the  other  was  Jenny  O  J ones, 
in  "Red-Letter  Nights."  The  first  of  those  pieces  is 
a  bit  of  blank-verse  dialogue,  written  by  Justin  II. 
McCarthy,  upon  the  basis  of  a  French  piece  by  Theo- 
dore de  Banville.  It  was  produced  at  Daly's  Theatre 
on  October  30,  1888.  Miss  Rehan  wore  a  robe  of 
golden  silk  and  her  noble,  spirited  head  was  crowned 
with  an  aureole  of  red  hair.  Xantippe,  resentful  of 
the  perfect  composure  of  Socrates,  scolds  and  storms 
till,  in  the  tempest  of  her  passion,  she  is  suddenly  thrown 
into  a  syncope,  whereupon  she  is  thought  to  be  dead. 
But  while  she  is  recovering  from  that  swoon  she  hears 
the  sorrowful,  affectionate  protestations  of  love  that 
are  uttered  by  her  husband,  and  perceiving  then  his 
sincerity,  devotion,  and  sweetness  and  her  own  unwom- 
anlike  violence  and  acrimony  of  temper,  she  changes 
from  a  shrew  to  a  meek  and  loving  woman.  Miss 
Rehan  acted  that  part  in  a  strain  of  passionate 
impetuosity,  and,  at  times,  with  fine  sarcasm.  Her  elo- 
cution was  uncommonly  sweet.  Her  action  was  marked 
by  incessant  and  piquant  variety.  She  flashed  from 
one  mood  to  another,  and  placed  many  phases  of  the 
feminine  nature  in  vivid  contrast.  The  embodiment 
was  one  of  sumptuous  personal  beauty,  and  after  the 
storm  of  shrewish  rage  and  turbulent  jealousy  had 
spent  its  force  the  portrayal  closed  with  the  suggestion 
of  a  lovely  ideal  of  nobility  and  gentleness.  When 
there  is  a  close  correspondence  between  the  temperament 


ADA    REHAN  167 

of  the  actor  and  the  temperament  of  the  part  that  is 
represented  a  greater  freedom  of  expression  is  naturally 
reached.  That  correspondence  existed  in  the  culminat- 
ing passage  of  that  play,  between  Miss  Rehan  and  the 
conquered  Xantlppe,  and  the  success  of  the  actress  was 
brilliant.  In  dealing  with  the  shrewish  aspect  of  the 
part  she  obeyed  the  same  subtle  impulse  that  she  had 
wisely  followed  in  her  treatment  of  Shakespeare's 
Katharine:  the  dress  was  made  to  harmonize  with  the 
spirit  of  its  wearer.  Her  shrew  was  red-haired,  high- 
colored,  and  like  a  scorching  flame.  Set  against  that 
brilliant  embodiment,  Jenny  O' J  ones,  a  farcical  episode, 
inspired  a  sentiment  of  wonder  that  the  same  woman 
should  be  able  to  invest  with  a  suitable  body  two  such 
utterly  divergent,  contrasted  persons.  The  character 
was  made  by  Daly  and  written  by  him  into  his  version 
of  a  German  play,  which  he  named  "Red-Letter 
Nights."  In  that  scene  Miss  Rehan,  representing  an 
amiable  though  wild  and  mischievous  girl,  was  con- 
strained to  adopt  the  same  expedient  that  Letitia 
Hardy  chooses,  in  "The  Belle's  Stratagem,"  though 
with  a  different  purpose.  Being  sought  in  marriage  by 
a  disagreeable  old  man,  the  heroine  pretends  to  be  a 
slatternly  hoyden,  and  her  singing  of  a  song  about 
Jenny  O' Jones,  which  she  declares  to  contain  more 
than  a  hundred  verses,  all  of  which  are  alike,  discomfits 
the  obnoxious  applicant  and  puts  him  to  flight.  It  is 
a  violent  expedient  of  humor, — it  is  much  as  if  Rosa- 


168  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

lind  should  pretend  to  be  Audrey, — but  it  is  exceedingly 
droll,  and,  seeing  that  the  actress  whose  art  could  touch 
such  extremes  of  character  and  of  poetry  as  Katharine 
and  Rosalind,  Ophelia  and  Peggy  Thrift,  Julia  and 
Marian  Lea,  Beatrice  and  Miranda,  could  also  cre- 
ate and  sustain  an  illusion  in  the  domain  of  down- 
right broad  farce,  the  observer  was  naturally  impressed 
by  the  rare  and  fine  talent  which  distinctively  marks  an 
actor, — the  capability  of  impersonation.  It  was  that 
faculty,  authenticated  and  made  irresistible  by  personal 
charm,  that  made  Ada  Rehan  a  leader  in  her  profession, 
and  that  prompts  and  justifies  commemoration  of  the 
grace,  humor,  tenderness,  and  beauty  of  her  acting  and 
the  auspicious  worth  of  her  artistic  powers. 

Ada  Rehan  obtained  a  triumphant  success  as  Letitia 
Hardy.  Her  portrayal  of  Letitia's  assumed  awkward- 
ness was  easily  perfect.  Her  adroit  use  of  the  Milk- 
maid song  cast  a  glow  of  delicious  humor,  commingled 
with  the  perplexing  spell  of  latent  refinement,  over  that 
image  of  rosy  rusticity,  and  it  was  quite  possible  to 
sympathize  with  Doricourt's  bewilderment  when  he  said 
that  he  had  seen  in  her  eyes  an  expression  that  seemed 
to  mock  the  folly  of  her  lips.  The  essential  attribute 
of  Letitia  Hardy  is  feminine  fascination,  and  that  was 
imparted  by  Ada  Rehan  to  every  fibre  of  the  embodi- 
ment. In  the  Masquerade  Scene  the  victorious  air  was 
sustained  with  inflexible  refinement  and  undeviating 
grace,    and    those    exquisite    speeches    about    the    ideal 


ADA    REHAN  169 

woman, — so  easily  spoiled,  so  difficult  to  deliver, — came 
off  in  the  rippling  tones  of  one  of  the  most  musical  voices 
ever  heard  on  our  Stage.  In  demeanor,  likewise, — 
in  the  preservation  of  stateliness  and  high-bred  isola- 
tion,— the  actress  was  at  her  best  and  unimpeachable. 
No  one  of  her  predecessors  as  Letitia  Hardy, — looking 
back  as  far  as  the  springtime  of  Julia  Bennett  Barrow, 
— acted  the  part  with  a  more  intrinsic  loftiness  of 
womanlike  spirit,  with  more  dignity  and  grace  of  bear- 
ing, or  with  a  more  fortunate  assumption  of  rustic  silli- 
ness in  the  Hoyden  Scene,  and  no  one  of  them  made  it  so 
essentially  diffusive  of  womanlike  allurement.  In  that 
particular  the  characteristic  embodiments  of  Miss  Rehan 
have  seldom  been  equalled.  The  secret  of  that  allurement 
is  elusive.  Among  its  elements  are  passionate  sincerity, 
the  manifest  capability  of  imparting  great  happiness, 
triumphant  personal  beauty,  which  yet  is  touched  and 
softened  by  a  wistful  and  sympathetic  sadness,  and  that 
controlling  and  compelling  instinct,  essentially  feminine, 
which  endows  with  vital  import  every  experience  of  love, 
and  creates  a  perfect  illusion  in  scenes  of  fancied  bliss 
or  woe.  The  piquant  aspect  of  the  character  of  Letitia 
Hardy  was  heightened  and  made  the  more  delightful 
in  Miss  Rehan's  impersonation  because  of  the  emphasis 
that  she  laid  upon  its  gravity,  making  the  personality 
genuine  and  imparting  to  Leiitia's  stratagem  a  moment- 
ous importance.  In  actual  life  no  woman  ever  really 
approves  of  levity  and  laughter  over  affairs  of  the  heart. 


170  THE   WALLET    OF    TIME 

Those,  to  women,  are  serious  things,  and  throughout  all 
her  performances  in  artificial  comedy,  whether  old  or 
new,  Miss  Rehan  was  specially  felicitous  in  her  fidelity 
to  that  instinct  of  earnest  womanhood.  The  common 
practice  of  the  stage  has  been,  in  such  characters  as 
Let  it  id,  to  aim  only  at  sparkle  and  dash.  The  victorious 
excellence  and  artistic  superiority  of  Miss  Rehan's 
assumption  were  obvious  in  its  union  of  glittering 
impetuosity  and  merry  witchery  with  true  passion, 
womanlike  tenderness  of  heart,  and  the  many  sweet 
ways  and  innocent  wiles  with  which  a  loving  woman 
involuntarily  commends  herself  to  the  object  of  her  love. 
The  embodiment  was  not  a  frolic,  but  a  round,  coherent, 
truthful,   fascinating  portrayal   of   human  nature. 

On  the  same  night  when  Ada  Rehan  first  appeared 
as  Lctitia  Hardy  she  also  acted  Mockworld,  in  a  fanci- 
ful, romantic  play,  by  Miss  Clo  Graves,  called  "The 
Knave."  The  character  is  a  picturesque  vagabond.  The 
scene  is  a  town  in  Germany.  The  vagabond  has  saved 
a  lovely  girl  from  a  mediseval  tyrannical  nobleman,  and 
has  subjected  that  potentate  to  humiliation  and  disgrace, 
and,  thereupon,  the  tyrant  has  issued  a  proclamation 
dooming  him  to  death.  It  is  near  the  end  of  a  summer 
day  when  that  chivalric  outlaw  drifts  into  the  market- 
place of  the  town,  where  the  written  mandate  of  his 
doom  has  just  been  displayed.  He  is  asked  to  read  it, 
since  no  one  else  then  present  can  read,  and  he  does 
Tead  it,    with   slight  variations,   and,   though   suspected, 


ADA   REHAN  171 

he  temporarily  eludes  detection.  He  is  entertained  by 
the  magistrate,  and  he  recounts  some  of  his  adventures, 
not  only  to  that  functionary,  but  in  the  hearing  of  the 
girl  whom  his  courage  and  skill  have  saved.  The  girl's 
fancy  is  taken  by  him,  and  it  is  evident  that  her  liking 
might  soon  ripen  into  love.  The  two  speak  together, 
and  the  knave  surprises  the  secret  of  the  girl's  heart. 
It  is  a  crisp  and  pretty  colloquy, — not  a  word  being 
wasted,  and  the  drift  being  steadily  dramatic.  The 
heart  of  the  knave  is  touched,  and  he  knows  that  he 
might  find  the  happiness  and  peace  of  love.  But  this 
homeless  wanderer  is  of  the  loftier  type  of  man,  and 
he  will  sacrifice  himself  rather  than  disgrace  what  he 
loves.  Loss  is  sometimes  better  than  gain.  Failure 
may  be  greater  and  finer  than  success.  He  sees  that 
this  innocent  girl  is  beloved  by  a  youth  of  her  own  sta- 
tion, and  with  delicate  artifice  he  will  contrive  their 
betrothal,  and  will  pass  gayly  into  the  shadow  of  death. 
The  play  was  a  dramatic  exposition,  done  with  a  free 
hand,  of  romantic  self-sacrifice.  The  acting  of  Ada 
Rehan  had  not  been  more  flexible  at  any  time  than  it 
was  in  that  character.  She  wore  the  masculine  garb 
with  ease,  and  as  the  temperament  of  such  a  lover  as 
Mockworld  would  be  feminine  and  very  sweet  and  ten- 
der she  readily  assumed  his  nature.  The  embodiment  was 
a  lovely  image  of  wild-wood  freedom,  elastic  in  demeanor, 
beautiful  in  visage  and  in  speech,  sweetly  suffused  with 
kindly  cynicism,  and  showing  the  face  of  a  sublime  sor- 


172  THE   WALLET    OF    TIME 

row,   radiant  with  the   smile  of  that  tender  submission 
which  is  perfect  triumph. 

And  that  point  contains  the  sum  of  thoughts  that  are 
prompted  by  the  subject.  It  is  a  common  opinion,  and 
sometimes  it  finds  expression,  that  any  person  who  is 
self-possessed,  and  is  able  to  deliver  language  in  an 
effective  manner,  is,  therefore,  able  to  act.  There  could 
not  be  a  greater  delusion.  Self-possession  in  the  pres- 
ence of  an  audience,  which  obviously  is  essential,  comes 
by  experience,  but  elocution  will  not  make  an  actor. 
It  is  a  useful  and  a  charming  accomplishment,  but  in 
the  art  of  acting  it  is  of  secondary  importance.  The 
first  qualification  for  an  actor  is  the  faculty  of  getting 
inside  a  character,  giving  to  it  a  body  and  presenting 
it  as  a  truth.  Ada  Rehan  was  excellent,  even  among 
the  best,  as  a  speaker  of  English,  whether  verse  or 
prose;  yet,  though  her  elocution  had  been  defective, 
her  signal  dramatic  ability  would  have  remained 
unimpaired.  Just  as,  in  a  dramatic  composition,  the 
quality  that  makes  it  a  play  and  not  a  narrative  is  a 
quality  neither  literary  nor  philosophical,  neither 
analytical  nor  poetic,  so  in  a  dramatic  performer  the 
quality  that  makes  the  actor  is  neither  scholarship,  nor 
logic,  nor  eloquence,  nor  ingenuity,  but  a  certain  power 
of  being  something  and  doing  something  which  con- 
verts words  into  actions  and  constructs  before  the  eyes 
of  the  spectator  a  moving  picture  of  human  life,  with 
its   background   of   materialism   and   its   atmosphere   of 


ADA    REHAN  173 

spiritual  mystery.  That  power  of  being  and  doing 
is  the  soul  of  the  Stage.  Those  persons  who  possess 
it,  and  those  alone,  touch  the  heart,  arouse  the  imagina- 
tion, and  justify,  and  dignify,  and  advance  the  profes- 
sion of  the  actor.  In  that  large  body  of  writing  which 
is  called  dramatic  criticism,  and  which  has  been  created 
and  copiously  augmented  by  the  futile  literary  industry 
of  more  than  two  hundred  years,  it  is  astonishing  to 
observe  how  little  thought  the  reader  is  able  to  dis- 
cover that  goes  to  the  question  of  what  the  actor  does 
and  of  how  he  does  it.  For  one  page  about  what  Gar- 
rick  actually  did,  in  any  one  of  Shakespeare's  char- 
acters, the  searcher  can  find  a  hundred  about  what 
Shakespeare  possibly  meant.  For  one  writer  like  Cib- 
ber  or  Tom  Davies,  who  tells  much,  he  can  find  fifty 
like  Tom  Brown  and  Anthony  Pasquin,  who  tell  prac- 
tically nothing;  yet  were  it  not  for  what  the  actor  con- 
tributes,— investing  with  a  body  that  soul  which  the 
author  has  conceived, — the  part  of  wisdom  would  be  to 
stay  at  home  and  read  the  play  in  peace,  at  a  comfort- 
able fireside.  It  is  that  which  makes  certain  men  and 
women  great  in  what  otherwise  would  be  an  idle  mimicry 
of  serious  and  substantial  things,  and  it  is  because  they 
are  great,  in  the  possession  and  exercise  of  that  power, 
that  the  study  of  their  witchcraft  is  worthy  of  intel- 
lectual attention  while  it  is  at  hand  and  worthy  to'  be 
seized  and  commemorated,  if  possible,  before  it  drifts 
away.     In  the  presence  of  such  women  as  Ellen  Terry 


174  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

and  Ada  Rehan, — representative  actresses  of  England 
and  America, — philosophers,  statesmen,  and  poets  dwin- 
dle into  comparative  insignificance  in  immediate  popular 
interest.  That  may  be  strange,  but  it  is  true;  and  it 
would  cease  to  be  strange  if  the  character,  methods,  and 
purpose  of  the  dramatic  faculty,  together  with  the 
enchantment  which  invests  a  beautiful  woman  to  whom 
nature  has  given  it,  were  more  intelligently  studied  and 
better   understood. 


IV. 

DAVID  WARFIELD. 
1866—19—. 

Among  contemporary  actors  one  of  the  most  con- 
spicuous is  David  Warfield,  a  man  of  exceptional  talent 
and  respectable  artistic  achievement.  An  effort,  mani- 
festly absurd  and  injudicious,  has  been  made  to  obtain 
recognition  for  him  as  being  "another  Joseph  Jeffer- 
son": "Save  us  from  our  friends!"  Joseph  Jefferson 
was  one  of  the  greatest  actors  that  ever  lived, — a  poetic 
genius  and  a  consummate  artist.  His  method  was  as 
fine  as  a  silk  thread  and  as  firm  as  a  strand  of  wrought 
steel.  No  deeper  feeling,  no  more  sensitive  imagination, 
no  finer,  more  delicate  nature,  has  been  manifested  by 
any  actor  seen  on  our  Stage  in  the  last  sixty  years  or 
recorded  in  the  long  annals  of  the  Theatre.  Mr.  War- 
field,  as  an  actor,  has  shown  a  pleasant  personality;  an 
affable  disposition;  a  gentle  manner;  sympathy  with 
sweet,  fine  feeling ;  fervid  emotion ;  capability  of  pathos ; 
and  a  sure  touch  in  the  realm  of  domestic  drama. 
The  subjects  which  he  has  illustrated  are,  with  one 
exception,  homely  reflections  of  common  life.  He  has 
displayed   force,   not  power,  and  of  poetic  feeling  and 

175 


170  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

imagination  he  has  given  no  denotement.  He  is  no 
more  worthy  to  be  named  with  Joseph  Jefferson  than 
Martin  Topper  is  worthy  to  be  named  with  Alfred 
Tennyson. 

Mr.  Warfield  was  born  in  San  Francisco,  California, 
on  November  28,  1806.  He  began  theatrical  life  as  a 
programme  boy,  in  the  Standard  Theatre  of  that  city. 
Later  he  became  an  usher,  at  the  Bush  Street  Theatre 
there.  His  first  professional  appearance  was  made  as 
a  member  of  a  travelling  theatrical  company  at  Napa, 
California,  in  1888,  as  the  specious,  rascally  Jew, 
Melter  Moss,  in  "The  Ticket-of-Leave  Man."  That 
company  was  disbanded  at  the  end  of  one  week, 
and  thereafter  Mr.  Warfield  appeared  at  several  San 
Francisco  variety  halls,  and  in  a  piece  called  "About 
Town,"  and  gave  imitations  of  actors  whom  he  had 
seen, — among  them  Tommaso  Salvini  and  Sarah  Bern- 
hardt,— and  of  "types"  that  he  had  observed  in  the 
streets  of  his  native  cit3T.  I*1  1890  he  removed  to  New 
York  and  obtained  professional  employment,  for  a 
short  time,  in  Paine's  Concert  Hall,  in  Eighth  Ave- 
nue. His  next  engagement  was  to  act  Hiram 
Joskins,  in  a  play  called  "The  Inspector,"  produced 
by  Mr.  William  A.  Brady:  that  employment  lasted 
two  months.  In  March,  1891,  he  performed  as  Honor  a, 
in  "O'Dowd's  Neighbors,"  in  a  company  led  by 
Mark  Murphy.  In  the  season  of  1891-'92  he  acted 
with   Russell's    Comedians,    under   the    management    of 


DAVID    WARFIELD  177 

John   H.   Russell,  appearing  as  John   Smith,   in    "The 
City  Directory."     In   1892-'93  he  was  seen  as    Wash- 
ington Littlehales,  in  "A  Nutmeg  Match."     In   Sep- 
tember,   1895,    he    became    associated    with    the    New 
York    Casino    Theatre,    where    he    remained    for    three 
years,  acting  in  "About  Town,"  "The    Merry  Whirl," 
"In  Gay  New  York,"  and  "The  Belle  of  New  York," 
— pieces   which   are    correctly   described    as   medleys    of 
tinkling  music  and  nonsense.    In  those  "entertainments," 
frivolous  and  often  vulgar,  Mr.  Warfield  presented  sev- 
eral  variations  of   substantially   the   same   identity, — an 
expert   semblance   of   the    New   York   East    Side   Jew. 
In  1898  he  joined  the  burlesque  and  travesty  company 
managed  by  Messrs.  Weber  and  Fields,  at  their  theatre 
in    Broadway,    between    Twenty-ninth    and     Thirtieth 
Streets,    New   York.      At   that   house   he    appeared    in 
various  rough   and  commonplace   travesties   of  contem- 
porary   theatrical    successes,    generally    presenting,    in 
different  lights,  his  photographic  copy  of  the  huckster- 
ing,  acquisitive,    pusillanimous   Jew   of   low   life.      One 
notable   variation   of  that   type   was   his   assumption   of 
The  Old  Man,  in  a  burlesque  of  the  offensive  play  of 
"Catherine."     Among  the  salient   characteristics   of  his 
acting,   in   whatever   parts   he   played,   were   fidelity   to 
minute  details   of   appearance   and  demeanor  and   con- 
sistent   and    continuous    preservation    of    the    spirit    of 
burlesque, — a  spirit  which  combines  imperturbable  gravity 
of  aspect   with  apparently   profound  sincerity   in   pre- 


178  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

posterous   situations   and    while   delivering   extravagant, 
ludicrous   speeches. 

In  1901  Mr.  Warfield  had  the  good  fortune  to  form 
a  professional  alliance  with  Mr.  David  Belasco,  who 
presented  him  in  a  frail  drama,  called  "The  Auc- 
tioneer," by  Charles  Klein  and  Lee  Arthur.  That 
vehicle  was  utilized  for  his  professional  industry  during 
three  years.  In  1904  he  was  prominently  brought 
forward  in  a  play  called  "The  Music  Master,"  written 
by  Mr.  Charles  Klein  and  revised  by  Mr.  Belasco,  and 
on  that  play,  which  proved  exceptionally  popular,  he 
relied,  exclusively,  for  the  ensuing  three  years.  On 
October  16,  1907,  Mr.  Belasco  produced  a  play  written 
by  himself,  in  association  with  Pauline  Phelps  and 
Marion  Short,  called  "A  Grand  Army  Man,"  in  which 
Mr.  Warfield  acted  the  principal  part.  That  pro- 
duction signalized  the  opening  of  the  Stuyvesant  The- 
atre, now  (1912)  called  the  Belasco.  Mr.  Warfield 
acted  there,  in  "A  Grand  Army  Man,"  until  February 
22,  when  "The  Music  Master"  was  revived.  During  a 
subsequent  tour  of  the  country  both  those  plays  were 
presented,  but  "The  Music  Master,"  proving  more  remu- 
nerative than  the  newer  play,  became  again  his  sole  pro- 
fessional reliance.     On  January  2,   1911,  a  play  called 

'The  Return  of  Peter  Grimm,"  written  by  Mr.  Belasco, 
announced  as  based  on  a  suggestion  by  Mr.  William 
C.    De   Mille,   was   produced   in   Boston.      On   October 

18,    1911,   that    play   was   presented    for   the   first   time 


DAVID    WARFIELD  179 

in  New  York,  at  the  Belasco  Theatre — Mr.  Warfield 
acting  the  central  part.  Mr.  Warfield  has  devoted 
himself  during  the  season  of  1912-'13  to  presentation 
of  "Peter  Grimm"  throughout  the  country.  He  has, 
many  times,  publicly  signified  ambition  and  intention 
to  produce  "The  Merchant  of  Venice,"  and  to  act 
ShylocJc, — a  part  to  which  he  may  prove  equal,  but 
for  the  suitable  embodiment  of  which  he  has  not, 
as  yet,  shown  the  slightest  qualification.  Few  actors, 
in  any  period,  have  received  such  abundant  monetary 
remuneration  as  it  has  been  Mr.  Warfield's  good  fort- 
une to  obtain.  He  is,  besides,  reputed  to  be  the  owner 
of  many  "moving  picture  theatres"  which  earn  large 
profits. 

"THE    MUSIC    MASTER." 

On  September  26,  1904,  Mr.  Warfield  appeared  at 
the  Belasco  Theatre,  New  York  (formerly  the  Republic 
and  now,  1912,  again  so  designated),  in  "The  Music 
Master"  and,  by  a  performance  of  deep  sincerity  and 
exceptional  merit,  gained  the  most  substantial  success 
of  his  professional  life. 

The  play  is  not  remarkable  for  either  originality 
of  design  or  felicity  of  construction,  but  it  is  pure  in 
spirit,  interesting  in  story,  picturesque  in  setting,  and 
healthful  in  influence,  and  it  was  apparent,  from  the 
first,  that  it  would  have  a  long  and  prosperous  career. 
It  was  announced  as  having  been  written  by  Mr. 
Charles   Klein.     It   is,   in   fact,   a   patchwork,   based   to 


180  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

some  extent  on  a  play  by  Felix  Morris  (1847-1900) 
called  'The  Old  Musician,"  and  worked  over  by 
David  Belasco,  with  a  distinctly  perceptible  infusion 
of  dramatic  expedients  from  that  fine  old  play  "Bel- 
phegor,  or  the  Mountebank."  The  central  person, 
Herr  Anton  von  Earwig,  the  Music  Master,  is  a  Ger- 
man musician,  of  a  familiar  type, — peculiar  but  attrac- 
tive; impassioned  but  gentle;  droll  but  piteous;  fervid 
but  patient;  an  image  of  moral  dignity  and  self- 
sacrifice, — and  the  posture  of  situations  and  incidents 
that  have  been  utilized  for  his  presentment  shows  him 
as  a  loving  father,  occupied,  under  conditions  of  almost 
sordid  adversity,  in  a  quest  for  his  daughter,  whom 
an  unworthy  wife  and  mother  has  taken  from  him, 
flying,  with  a  paramour,  from  Germany  to  the  United 
States.  That  daughter,  at  last,  he  finds  and,  under 
conditions  cruel  to  himself,  practically  befriends,  by 
keeping  the  secret  of  her  paternity.  The  conspicuous 
attributes  of  this  person, — attributes  blended  and  woven 
beneath  a  serio-comic  surface  of  foreign  manner  and 
broken  English, — are,  intrinsically  (of  course,  with  vari- 
ant investiture),  those  that  have  long  endeared  such 
characters  as  Michonnet,  Triplet,  Mr.  Pegg'otty,  Caleb 
Plummer,  and  Doctor  Primrose;  the  attributes,  namely, 
of  love,  charity,  fidelity,  fortitude,  patience,  humor,  sim- 
plicity, spontaneous  goodness,  and  an  unconscious  grace 
equally  of  conduct,  manner,  and  thought.     The  purpose, 


Front  a  Photograph  hi)  Otto  Sarony  Co.  In  the  Collection  oj  the  Autho 

DAVID    WABFIELD 
as 

Herr  An/on  von  Barwig,  In  "The  Music  Master." 


DAVID    WARFIELD  181 

manifestly,  was  to  place  an  eccentric,  gentle,  affection- 
ate, humorous,  and  somewhat  forlorn  elderly  man  in  a 
predicament  of  sad  circumstance,  and  in  that  way  to 
arouse  pity  and  stimulate  the  promptings  of  charitable 
impulse.  That  purpose  was  accomplished;  and,  while 
the  play  is  neither  novel  with  invention,  potent  with 
strong  dramatic  effect,  nor  brilliant  with  polished 
dialogue,  it  possesses  the  solid  worth  of  fidelity  to 
simple  life,  the  charm  of  diversified  character,  and  the 
beauty  of  deep,  tender,  human  feeling. 

It  was  a  wise  choice  which  chose  to  combine  those 
attributes  into  a  stage  figure,  and  Mr.  Warfield, — find- 
ing himself  liberated,  mind  and  heart,  into  a  congenial 
character,  made  this  figure  a  vital  emblem  of  heroism 
and  paternal  affection — not  insipid,  not  effusive,  but 
piquant  with  involuntary  humor  and  decisive  with  well- 
governed  emotion.  In  earlier  performances  this  come- 
dian was  almost  exclusively  photographic;  but  time, 
study,  thought,  and  practice, — the  forces  that  consti- 
tute experience, — gradually  expanded  and  ripened  his 
art,  and  in  this  performance  (when  repetition  had 
eliminated  excessive  nervous  trepidation  and  made  it 
"a  property  of  easiness")  he  showed  intuitive  insight 
and  was  deeply  pathetic.  That  is  success;  for  the  higher 
purpose  of  acting  a  play  is  not  proclamation  of  the 
talents  of  an  actor,  but  liberation  and  enforcement  of 
the  utmost  of  beneficial  influence  upon  an  audience 
that  a  play  contains.     Mr.  Warfield  conquered  by  the 


182  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

two  great  virtues  of  simplicity  and  sincerity.  The  prin- 
cipal defects  in  the  personation — defects  conspicuous 
in  all  Mr.  Warfield's  acting — were  a  hard,  metallic  voice 
and  a  poor  method  of  elocution.  The  best  dramatic 
expedient  in  the  play  is  that  by  which  the  father's 
dubious,  inchoate  recognition  of  the  daughter  is  con- 
firmed. At  that  point  and  in  the  sequent  situation, 
"lifted"  from  "Belphegor,"  Mr.  Warfleld  evinced  sym- 
pathetic delicacy  and  tempestuous  fervor.  The  closing 
scenes  of  the  play  are  marred  by  episodes  of  irrelevant 
incident  and  by  prolixity,  obscurity,  and  artifice,  in  the 
long-drawn  passage  of  parental  and  filial  reconciliation, 
which,  indeed,  require  but  a  glance. 

"A    GRAND    ARMY    MAN." 

On  October  16,  1907,  Mr.  Belasco  opened  the  Stuy- 
vesant  Theatre,  and  Mr.  Warfield,  appearing  in  "A 
Grand  Army  Man,"  gave  a  strong,  sympathetic,  ten- 
der, touching  performance  of  an  old  soldier  who  is 
subjected  to  an  afflicting  domestic  experience.  The 
play  presents  neither  surprising  ingenuity  of  construc- 
tion nor  uncommon  felicity  of  style,  but  it  tells  a 
plain  story  in  a  plain  way.  The  chord  that  is  struck 
in  it  is  that  of  romantic,  almost  paternal,  altogether 
manly,  and  beautiful  affection.  As  a  work  of  dramatic 
art  it  appertains  to  the  class  of  comedies  represented 
by  such  plays  as  "Grandfather  Whitehead,"  "The  Por- 
ter's   Knot,"    and    "The    Chimney    Corner," — plays    in 


DAVID    WARFIELD  183 

which  the  theme  involves  unselfish  love  and  the  senti- 
ments and  emotions  that  cling  to  the  idea  of  home. 
In  that  respect  it  reverts  to  a  style  of  drama  once, 
fortunately,  dominant — at  a  time  when  the  American 
Stage  was  illumined  and  adorned  by  such  actors  as 
Henry  Placide,  John  Gilbert,  John  Nickinson,  Charles 
W.  Couldock,  William  Warren,  and  Mark  Smith.  The 
authors  of  it,  David  Belasco,  Pauline  Phelps,  and 
Marion  Short,  provided  Mr.  Warfield  with  a  vehicle 
of  dramatic  expression  that  exactly  conforms  to  the 
bent  of  his  mind.  The  plot  is  simple,  but  by  reason 
of  being  natural  and  being  fraught  with  true,  as 
opposed  to  false,  emotion,  its  simplicity  nowhere  declines 
into  insipid  commonplace.  The  chief  character,  Wes 
Bigelow,  is  a  veteran  of  the  Grand  Army  of  the 
Republic.  He  has  never  been  married.  In  youth  he 
has  loved  a  girl,  but  has  riot  won  her,  and  she  has 
become  the  wife  of  one  of  his  comrades.  Years  have 
passed,  and  the  American  Civil  War  has  occurred. 
That  comrade  has  been  killed  in  battle.  The  widow 
has  died:  but  she  has  left  a  son,  that  comrade's  boy, 
and  Bigelow  has  adopted  and  reared  him.  The  sub- 
stance of  the  play  is  his  experience  with  the  fortunes  of 
that  ward. 

It  happens  sometimes  that  a  man  whom  a  girl  has 
rejected,  and  who  remains  unmarried  because  of  his 
absorbing  love  for  her,  will  fix  his  affection  on  her 
child, — she  having  married  a  more   favored  suitor   and 


184  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

produced  a  family, — and  will  love  that  child  as  if  it 
were  his  own.  That  ha}) pens  to  Bigelow.  The  son 
of  his  loved  and  lost  idol  is  the  light  of  his  eyes  and 
the  joy  of  his  heart.  There  is  no  labor  that  he  will  not 
do,  and  no  sacrifice  that  he  will  not  make,  for  the  lad, 
of  whom  he  ardently  prophesies  success  and  honor. 
The  boy,  Robert,  has  been  intrusted  with  money,  the 
property  of  the  Grand  Army  veterans,  and,  instead  of 
placing  it  in  the  bank,  as  directed  to  do,  he  has  used 
it  in  speculation,  and  lost  it.  When  the  knowledge 
of  that  fault  comes  to  the  veteran  he  is,  at  first,  stunned 
by  it;  then  enraged;  and  then  broken  by  the  conflict 
betwixt  the  sense  of  shame  and  the  struggle  of  affec- 
tion. He  tries  to  thrash  the  boy  with  a  horsewhip, 
but  in  that  manifestation  of  wrath  he  fails:  his  cher- 
ished pet  cannot  have  done  wrong;  has  only  erred 
through  accident;  can  surely  be  redeemed;  must,  of 
course,  make  amends, — and  all  will  be  well.  The  case 
comes  to  trial,  before  a  judge  who,  privately,  is  hostile 
to  Bigelow,  and  measures  are  taken  to  insure  convic- 
tion. The  veteran  offers  to  replace  the  money  that  has 
been  used  by  his  ward, — supposing  that  the  complaint 
will  then  be  dismissed.  That  money  he  has  obtained 
by  sale  of  his  personal  effects,  and  also  by  means  of  a 
mortgage  imposed  on  his  farm.  The  old  soldier  makes 
an  impassioned,  pathetic  appeal  to  the  court,  but  the 
hostile  magistrate  cannot  be  appeased.  Robert  is  con- 
victed  and   is    sent   to   prison    for   one   year.      A   little 


DAVID    WARFIELD  185 

time  passes,  and  Robert's  sweetheart,  the  daughter  of 
the  malicious  judge,  leaves  her  father's  abode  and  seeks 
refuge  with  Bigelow  and  the  kind  old  woman  who  keeps 
house  for  him.  Robert  is  pardoned,  at  the  intercession 
of  the  veteran's  military  comrades,  and  he  comes  home, 
to  his  guardian  and  his  love,  on  New  Year's  Day. 

Nothing  could  be  more  simple  than  that  unpreten- 
tious idyl  of  home.  It  is  in  situations  of  simplicity, 
however,  that  an  actor  is  subjected  to  the  most  severe 
test  of  his  inherent  power,  his  fibre  of  character,  his 
knowledge  of  the  human  heart,  his  store  of  experience, 
his  resources  of  feeling,  and  his  artistic  faculty  of 
expression.  Mr.  Warfield  endured  that  test,  allowing 
the  torrent  of  feeling  to  precipitate  itself  without 
apparent  restraint,  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  control 
and  guide  it.  Such  artistic  growth  he  had  evinced  in 
his  impersonation  of  the  Music  Master,  and  he  evinced 
it  even  more  effectively  in  his  assumption  of  the  Grand 
Army  Man, — going  to  Nature  for  his  impulse,  and 
obeying  a  right  instinct  of  art  in  his  direction  of  it. 
In  the  portrayal  of  the  noble,  sweet-tempered  yet  fiery 
old  soldier  he  aimed  especially  at  self-effacement,  at 
abnegation  of  every  motive  or  trait  of  selfishness.  On 
finding  that  his  boy  loves  the  daughter  of  his  enemy, 
and  is  by  her  beloved,  the  veteran  is,  almost  at  once, 
disposed  to  placate  that  enemy  and  favor  those  young 
lovers.  There  is,  to  be  sure,  a  little  reluctance,  a  little 
struggle  in  his  mind;  but  that  is  soon  over.     The  actor 


186  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

denoted  that  struggle  and  that  surrender  in  a  lovely 
spirit.  In  the  tempestuous  scene  of  Bigelow's  horrified 
consternation,  the  agonizing  conflict  between  anger  and 
love,  when  the  misconduct  of  the  boy  is  exposed  and 
confessed,  and  the  old  man,  after  trying  to  beat  him  as 
a  felon,  clasps  him  to  his  heart  as  only  the  victim  of  an 
unfortunate,  venial  error,  the  anguish"  and  the  passionate 
affection  of  a  strong,  even  splendid,  nature  were  expressed 
with  cogent  force.  The  appeal  spoken  in  the  courtroom, 
— an  outburst  of  honest,  simple,  rugged  eloquence,  all 
the  more  fervid  and  poignant  because  unskilled  and 
fettered, — had  the  authentic  note  of  heartfelt  emotion. 
In  circumstance  those  situations,  which  are  the  pivotal 
points  of  the  play,  recall  certain  supreme  effects  in 
"Olivia"  and  "The  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian,"  but  Mr. 
Warfield's  treatment  of  those  situations  was  fresh,  and 
his  achievement  in  them  displayed  him  as  an  actor  to 
whom  the  realm  of  pathos  is  widely  open,  and  who  can 
tread  with  a  sure  footstep  in  the  labyrinth  of  the  domes- 
tic emotions, — one  of  the  most  perplexing  fields  with 
which  dramatic  art  is  concerned.  All  observers  know 
how  easy  it  is,  in  treatment  of  themes  of  the  fire- 
side, the  family,  the  home,  to  lapse  into .  tameness. 
An  actor  must  possess  an  ardent  and  beautiful  spirit, 
and  must  be  greatly  in  earnest,  who  can  sustain  such 
themes  and  invest  them  with  the  glow  of  passionate 
life.  Neither  this  part  nor  any  other  that  Mr.  War- 
field  has   assumed,   except  Peter   Grimm,   involves   the 


DAVID    WARFIELD  187 

supreme  faculty  of  imagination  or  impinges  on  the 
domain  of  poetry.  Edwin  Booth — Joseph  Jefferson — 
Henry  Irving— they  are  all  dead.  Let  us  have  sense 
and  justice:  let  no  enthusiast  of  a  button-making  the- 
atrical period  fall  into  the  delusion  that  the  empty 
throne  has  been  filled.  Mr.  Warfield  is  a  capital  actor, 
but,  while  he  has  shown  fine  power  and  done  fine  things, 
he  has  not  yet  attained  the  summit  of  eminence  as  an 
imaginative  actor.    There  is  still  much  to  be  achieved. 

"The  heights  that  great  men  reached  and  kept 
Were  not  attained  by  sudden  flight, 
But  they,  while  their  companions  slept, 
Were  toiling  upward,  in  the  night." 

"THE  RETURN  OF  PETER  GRIMM." 

In  drama,  whether  prose  or  verse,  the  device  has 
frequently  been  used  of  bringing  back  to  our  material 
world  the  spirits  of  persons  who  have  passed  out  of 
mortal  life,  and  causing  them  to  pervade  the  scenes 
with  which  they  were  associated  in  the  body.  That 
device  is  employed  in  "The  Return  of  Peter  Grimm,"  in 
which  Mr.  Warfield  made  his  first  and,  thus  far,  his 
only  approach  to  the  realm  of  imagination.  Peter 
Grimm,  a,  prosperous,  self-willed,  kind,  good  old  man, 
who  in  the  government  of  his  family  and  the  arrange- 
ment  of  his  worldly  affairs  has  made  serious  errors, — the 
most  deplorable  of  them  being  the  separation  of  his 
ward  from  a  youth  who  loves  her  and  whom  she  loves, 


188  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

and  her  betrothal  to  his  nephew,  a  hypocrite  and  a 
scoundrel, — is  suddenly  stricken  dead,  of  heart  disease, 
and,  after  a  little  time,  his  spirit  returns  to  the  place 
which  was  his  earthly  home,  intent  on  retrieving  those 
errors,  discomfiting  the  rascal  by  whom  he  has  been 
deceived,  and  making  his  foster-child  happy.  Mr. 
Warfield,  personating  Peter  Grimm,  first  presented  him 
as  a  mortal,  afterward  as  a  spirit.  The  character, — 
honest,  sturdy,  opinionated,  worldly-wise,  somewhat 
rough  and  imperious,  yet  intrinsically  genial, — was  cor- 
rectly assumed  and  expressed,  but  the  actor's  denote- 
ment of  spiritual  being  was  neither  imaginative  nor 
sympathetic,  and  it  did  not  create  even  the  slightest 
illusion. 

The  purpose  of  the  dramatist  seems  to  have  been  to 
intimate  a  notion,  comfortable  to  the  general  mind, 
that  spiritual  existence  of  beings  once  mundane  is  merely 
a  continuation  of  their  everyday  condition  in  this  world. 
In  the  absence  of  knowledge  on  the  subject  that  assump- 
tion is  as  tenable  as  any  other.  Persons  who  are  com- 
monplace in  what  we  call  Time  may  reasonably  be  held 
to  remain  commonplace  in  what  we  call  Eternity.  No 
one  knows.  The  Book  of  Destiny  has  not  been  opened. 
But  the  rationality  of  assumption  which  makes  of  "that 
undiscovered  country"  only  a  prolongation  of  this 
earthly  scene  at  once  dissipates,  especially  for  dramatic 
purpose  and  effect,  all  atmosphere  of  spirituality,  all 
glamour   of   the   ideal,   which  happily   might   be   super- 


DAVID    WARFIELD  189 

induced  by  imaginative  treatment  of  a  mysterious  sub- 
ject. However  prosaic  the  quality  of  a  disembodied 
spirit  may  remain,  it  seems  reasonable  to  assume  that 
there  must  be  some  essential  difference  between  the 
material  body  and  the  spiritual  body,  and  the  person 
undertaking  to  represent  a  spirit  could  only  succeed, 
if  at  all,  in  denoting  that  difference  not  by  stage  tricks 
but  by  mental  power,  and  affluence  of  emotion,  by 
weird  strangeness  of  individuality,  by  exquisite  sensi- 
bility, by  magnetism,  and  by  the  artistic  skill  to  liberate 
those  forces  and  so  elicit  and  control  the  sympathy  of  his 
auditors.  Mr.  Warfield's  personation  of  Grimm  gave 
not  the  faintest  intimation  of  spirituality,  and  there  was 
not  one  gleam  of  imagination  in  his  presentment  of  the 
spirit. 

Few  actors  have  ever  succeeded  in  conveying  to  an 
audience  any  really  convincing,  absorbing  sense  of 
spiritual  presence.  The  dramatist  of  "Peter  Grimm" 
probably  did  not  intend  that  any  siich  sense  should  be 
conveyed.  Mr.  Warfield,  apparently,  did  not  attempt 
to  convey  it,  and  if,  as  appears  true,  it  was  the  actor's 
purpose  to  present  Grimm  as  essentially  the  same  per- 
son after  death  as  before,  then  his  personation,  undoubt- 
edly, was  the  rounded  result  of  a  definite  plan,  and  was, 
as  such,  entirely  successful. 

The  part  of  Peter  Grimm,  has  been  described'  as  one 
of  great  difficulty.  It  is,  on  the  contrary,  very  easy. 
Its  requirement  is  sincerity.    Grimm,  as  a  spirit,  clothed 


190  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

as  in  mortal  life,  must  move  among  persons  who  were 
his  friends  and  acquaintances,  unseen  by  them,  unheard 
when  he  speaks,  eagerly  desirous  to  influence  their  con- 
duct, but  practically  helpless  to  do  so,  except  at  moments 
when  accession  of  extreme  sensibility  on  the  part  of  one 
or  another  of  them  provides  occasion,  until,  at  last, 
force  of  circumstance  and  the  impelling  guidance  of  the 
dead  man  achieve  his  purpose.  Acted  in  the  spirit 
precisely  as  in  the  flesh,  as  a  good  old  man,  the  part 
makes  no  draft  upon  the  resources  of  mind  and  feeling 
or  upon  the  faculty  of  expression  that  any  good  actor 
might  not  easily  satisfy.  The  situations  wherein  Grimm, 
ostensibly,  is  ignored  by  the  other  persons  on  the  stage 
in  fact  revolve  around  him  and  are  dependent  on  his 
presence;  he  engages  the  sympathy  of  the  audience 
practically  to  the  exclusion  of  all  the  other  characters, 
and  the  almost  universal  interest — whether  assenting  or 
dissenting — in  anything  relating  directly  to  the  theme 
of  spiritual  survival  after  death,  together  with  the 
novelty  of  a  ghost  displayed  in  the  environment  of 
everyday,  centres  observation  on  Grimm  and  his  per- 
sonator. 

Mr.  Warfield's  performance,  notwithstanding  the 
prosaic  atmosphere  of  it,  was  interesting,  and  his  excur- 
sion into  the  realm  of  the  occult  was,  at  least,  calculated 
to  stimulate  thought  on  a  serious  subject.  In  this,  as 
in  many  other  matters,  the  degree  of  approval  gained 
by  the  play  and  its  performance  will  ever  be  variably 


DAVID    WARFIELD  191 

accordant  to  taste.  To  some  persons,  no  doubt,  the 
ideal  of  a  newly  dead  child  being  borne  away  on  his 
spirit-uncle's  shoulders,  singing  about  "Uncle  Rat  has 
gone  to  town  to  buy  his  niece  a  wedding  gown,"  and 
musically  inquiring,  "What  shall  the  wedding  breakfast 
be?  Hard  boiled  eggs  and  a  cup  of  tea?"  will  be 
delightful.  Others,  equally  without  doubt,  will  fail  to 
find  it  impressive. 


V. 

FRANK    WORTHING. 
1866—1910. 

Francis  George  Pentland,  who  was  known  to  the 
Stage  as  Frank  Worthing,  and  who  was  admired  and 
honored  as  one  of  its  foremost  and  best  representatives, 
died  suddenly,  just  within  the  stage-door  of  the  Gar- 
rick  Theatre,  Detroit,  Michigan,  on  December  27,  1910, 
of  hemorrhage  from  the  stomach.  His  health  had  been 
for  a  considerable  period  impaired  and  his  condition 
frail.  Indeed,  during  the  last  two  years  of  his  life 
he  had  survived  chiefly  because  of  his  resolute  endurance. 
Pie  fully  realized  his  physical  weakness  and  knew  that 
his  hold  upon  life  was  slender,  but  he  was  a  brave, 
gallant  gentleman;  he  would  not  burden  his  friends 
with  anxiety  for  his  welfare  or  cause  any  distress  that 
could  be  averted;  he  was  reticent:  he  kept  his  troubles 
to  himself,  and  he  had  determined  to  meet  the  inevitable 
summons,  undaunted,  at  whatever  time  it  might  come, — 
remaining  in  the  active  practice  of  his  profession,  and 
falling  at  the  post  of  duty.  That  purpose  he  fulfilled, 
dying  as  he  would  have  wished  to  die,  stanch  and 
faithful   to   the  last. 

The    life   of   an    actor    is   less    eventful    in    our   time 

192 


FRANK    WORTHING  193 

than  often  it  was  in  those  old  days  before  the  profes- 
sion of  Acting  obtained  the  almost  universal  recog- 
nition which  it  now  enjoys,  and  when  such  a  man  as 
Edmund  Kean  was  compelled,  in  the  course  of  his 
travels,  to  swim  across  a  river,  carrying  his  clothing 
in  a  bundle  on  his  head;  but  it  is  a  busy  and  toilsome 
life,  and  it  is  attended  by  much  vicissitude.  The 
story  of  Frank  Worthing's  life  is  a  story  of  persist- 
ent, continuous  professional  labor,  prompted  by 
honorable  ambition  and  directed  toward  fulfilment  of 
a  high  ideal.  Mr.  Worthing  was  a  native  of  Scot- 
land, born  at  Edinburgh,  October  12,  1866.  He 
was  educated  at  Hunter's  School,  in  Edinburgh,  at 
the  Royal  High  School  there,  and  at  the  Edinburgh 
University.  It  was  intended  that  he  should  follow 
the  profession  of  medicine,  and  for  some  time  his 
studies  took  that  direction,  but  as  he  found  himself 
exceedingly  sensitive  to  those  painful  experiences 
which,  in  medical  training,  are  unavoidable,  he  was 
eventually  constrained  to  abandon  that  pursuit. 
In  youth  he  joined  an  amateur  theatrical  club  called 
the  Edinburgh  Dramatic  Society,  and  his  first  appear- 
ance on  the  stage  was  made,  during  his  membership 
of  that  club,  for  a  benefit,  in  the  farce  of  "Which 
Is  Which?"  When  he  adopted  the  stage  as  a  pro- 
fession he  chose  for  himself  the  name  of  Frank 
Worthing,  in  order  to  avoid  confusion  of  profes- 
sional   identity, — his    brother,    Nicol    Pentland,    having 


194  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

already  appeared  as  an  actor.  His  adoption  of  the 
stage  as  a  regular  calling  was  due  in  part  to  the  counsel 
and  encouragement  of  Miss  Olga  Nethersole.  His 
career  as  an  actor  hegan  about  1884.  He  was  early 
employed  in  the  stock  company  directed  by  Sarah 
Thorne  at  Margate,  and  he  there  played  many  parts 
and  gained  useful  experience.  Later  he  acted  in  pro- 
vincial travelling  companies.  At  one  time  he  had  the 
good  fortune  to  be  associated  with  one  of  the  com- 
panies of  Henry  Irving.  Also  he  was  fortunate  in 
being  a  member  of  Charles  Wyndham's  company,  and 
in  association  with  that  fine  comedian  he  acted  many 
parts,  among  them  Ivesson,  in  Henry  Arthur  Jones's 
play  of  "The  Bauble  Shop";  Captain  Hazelfoot,  in 
"The  Candidate,"  and  Captain  Marchmont,  in  "An 
Aristocratic  Alliance";  and  when  touring  in  the  prov- 
inces he  played  various  parts  that  Wyndham  had  played 
in  the  metropolis.  His  first  appearance  on  the  Lon- 
don Stage  was  made,  December  4,  1888,  at  the  Jodrell 
Theatre,  Great  Queen  Street,  as  Mr.  France,  in  a  play 
called  "The  Alderman,"  by  James  Morton.  In  1889 
he  acted  in  London  and  in  the  provinces,  with  Milly 
Palmer  (Mrs.  Daniel  E.  Bandmann).  In  1890  he 
was  selected  for  leading  man  with  Mrs.  Patrick  Camp- 
bell, who  was  at  that  time  becoming  conspicuous,  and 
with  her  he  acted  Orlando, — a  performance  which, 
maturing  as  time  passed,  became  the  best  seen  on  our 
Stage  since  the  day  of  Walter  Montgomery.     A  little 


FRANK    WORTHING  195 

later  he  succeeded  the  accomplished  Charles  Coghlan 
as  leading  man  in  the  company  of  Mrs.  Langtry,  and 
with  that  actress  he  performed  as  Marc  Antony,  Claude 
Melnotte,  Orlando,  Lord  Clancarty,  Pygmalion,  and 
Charles  Surface. 

His  success,  at  that  time,  had  attracted  attention 
and,  at  the  request  of  Miss  Olga  Nethersole,  he  was 
engaged  as  a  leading  man,  by  the  late  Augustin  Daly. 
The  plan  was  that  he  should  appear  in  this  country 
with  Miss  Nethersole,  but,  much  to  his  dissatisfaction 
and  also  to  that  of  Miss  Nethersole,  soon  after  his  arrival 
here  the  plan  was  changed.  He  left  England  September 
22,  1894,  and  his  first  appearance  in  America  was 
effected  on  October  15,  that  year,  at  Philadelphia,  as 
Sidney  Austin,  in  "Love  on  Crutches."  Instead  of  being 
sent  out  with  Miss  Nethersole  he  had  been  transferred 
to  Daly's  company  to  play  leading  business  with  Ada 
Rehan.  His  first  appearance  at  Daly's  Theatre,  New 
York,  occurred  on  December  15,  1894,  also  as  Sidney 
Austin,  and  from  that  time  onward  he  was  identified 
with  the  best  industry  and  finest  achievement  of  the 
American  Stage.  On  February  25,  1895,  at  Daly's 
Theatre,  he  acted  Proteus,  in  "The  Two  Gentlemen 
of  Verona," — Miss  Rehan  acting  Julia, — and  although 
Proteus  is  an  unpleasant  part  he  was  surprisingly  sue- 
cessful  in  it,  contriving,  as  he  did,  to  commend  the 
character  to  some  measure  of  sympathy  by  suggesting 
a  volatile  temperament  rather  than  a  base  mind,   and 


196  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

by  making  the  fever  of  passion  seem  a  palliative  for 
what  is,  in  reality,  a  deceit.  He  remained  with  Daly's 
company  until  February,  1896,  acting  many  and  various 
parts,  among  them  Charles  Surface,  Duke  Aranza,  in 
"The  Honeymoon";  Captain  Keefe  O'Keefe,  in  "Nancy 
and  Company";  Demetrius,  in  "A  Midsummer  Night's 
Dream";  Orlando,  in  "As  You  Like  It,"  and  Captain 
von  Vinck,  in  "The  Two  Escutcheons."  In  their  act- 
ing in  the  latter  play  Mr.  Worthing  and  Miss  Maxine 
Elliott  were  exceptionally  fortunate,  gaining  signal 
success  and  much  popularity.  Both  of  them  had  found 
their  positions  irksome  in  Daly's  company,  and  a  little 
later  they  withdrew  from  it  and,  obtaining  the  play  of 
"The  Two  Escutcheons,"  appeared  in  it,  as  "co-stars," 
at  the  Garden  Theatre.  On  March  23,  1896,  they  per- 
formed at  the  Fifth  Avenue  Theatre, — Mr.  Worthing 
playing  Ned  Garland, — in  a  play  by  Mr.  Sydney 
Rosenfeld,  called  "A  House  of  Cards."  That  venture 
failed,  and  Mr.  Worthing  and  Miss  Elliott  then  joined 
Mr.  T.  Daniel  Frawley's  stock  company,  in  San  Fran- 
cisco. While  leading  man  with  that  company  Mr. 
Worthing  acted  many  and  widely  contrasted  parts. 
He  appeared  in  Los  Angeles  as  well  as  in. San  Fran- 
cisco, made  several  tours  of  the  Pacific  slope,  and  also 
a  professional  visit  to  the   Sandwich  Islands. 

In  1898  he  returned  to  the  East,  and,  on  October 
22,  acted  at  the  Garrick  Theatre,  New  York,  with 
Miss    Annie    Russell,    in    the    play    of    "Catherine, " — 


FRANK   WORTHING  197 

appearing  as  the  Due  de  Coutras.  In  that  produc- 
tion the  principal  success  was  obtained  by  Mr.  Worthing 
and  Mrs.  LeMoyne.  In  the  following  year  he  was 
leading  man  with  Miss  Blanche  Bates,  with  whom  he 
had  been  professionally  associated  in  Mr.  Frawley's 
stock  company,  in  which  Miss  Bates  became  leading 
woman  after  the  withdrawal  of  Miss  Elliott,  who  went 
to  Australia  with  Mr.  N.  C.  Goodwin.  On  October 
16,  1899,  at  the  Herald  Square  Theatre,  New  York, 
Mr.  Worthing  acted  David  Brandon,  in  Mr.  Zangwill's 
theatrical  synopsis  of  his  novel  of  "The  Children  of  the 
Ghetto."  On  January  8,  1900,  at  the  same  theatre, 
he  appeared  as  Anthony  Depew,  in  Mr.  Belasco's  play 
of  "Naughty  Anthony,' '—Miss  Bates  acting  Cora. 
During  that  engagement  he  also  appeared  as  Lieut. 
Pickering ,  in  the  original  production  of  "Mine.  Butter- 
fly." On  January  15,  1901,  at  the  Bijou  Theatre,  in 
association  with  Miss  Amelia  Bingham,  he  appeared 
as  Richard  Sterling,  in  Clyde  Fitch's  photographic  play 
of  "The  Climbers,"  and  by  his  earnest,  judicious, 
authoritative,  finished  acting  he  did  much  to  insure  its 
success.  In  1902  and  1903  he  played  leading  business 
with  Julia  Marlowe,  acting  in  "The  Queen  Fiametta" — 
a  piece  which  was  dropped  from  Miss  Marlowe's  rep- 
ertory when  it  became  evident  that  Mr„  Worthing  had 
absorbed  the  entire  public  interest  of  its  performance. 
He  also  acted  Captain  Oliver,  in  "The  Cavalier."  In 
the   season    of    1903-'04    he    participated    as    Rev.    Dr. 


198  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

Clifton  Bradford  in  the  representation  of  the  humorous 
and  exceedingly  amusing  play  by  Augustus  Thomas 
called  "The  Other  Girl,"  and  he  gave  one  of  the  most 
expert  and  blithe  light  comedy  performances  that  had 
brightened  our  Stage.  In  the  season  of  1904-'05  his 
skill  was  exerted,  without  profit,  in  the  hopeless  task  of 
trying  to  redeem  Pinero's  silly  and  offensive  play  called 
"A  Wife  Without  a  Smile."  On  February  2,  1905, 
having  assumed  the  position  of  leading  man  in  a  stock 
company  organized  by  Mr.  Walter  Noah  Lawrence, 
he  acted  at  the  Madison  Square  Theatre,  as  Jack 
Temple,  in  the  droll,  piquant,  farcical  comedy  of  "Mrs. 
Temple's  Telegram." 

In  his  next  engagement  Mr.  Worthing  was  asso- 
ciated with  Miss  Margaret  Anglin,  on  tour  in  a 
repertory;  and  at  the  Princess  Theatre,  New  York, 
he  appeared  in  "Zira," — a  variant  of  Wilkie  Collins's 
"New  Magdalen,"  in  the  construction  and  production 
of  which  he  had  a  hand,  associated  with  Mr.  Henry 
Miller.  On  January  22,  1906,  at  Daly's  Theatre,  he 
acted  Vandervelt,  in  "The  Fascinating  Mr.  Vander- 
velt,"  by  Mr.  Alfred  Sutro—  Miss  Ellis  Jeffreys  play- 
ing Lady  Clarice, — and  of  that  part  he  gave  a  notably 
piquant,  quizzical,  sparkling  performance.  Soon  after 
that  time  he  appeared  for  a  brief  season  with  Mrs. 
Patrick  Campbell  in  London.  In  1906,  at  the  Man- 
hattan Theatre,  Mr.  Worthing  appeared  in  Miss  Grace 
George's  production  of  "Clothes,"  and  one  night  in  that 


FRANK    WORTHING  199 

engagement  he  seriously  injured  himself  when  falling 
backward  down  a  flight  of  stairs,  as  required  by  the 
business  of  the  scene.  Mr.  Worthing  remained  with 
Miss  George  after  that  play  was  taken  "on  the  road." 
On  April  15,  1907,  he  acted  Henri  des  Prunelles,  in  a 
new  version  of  "Divorcons,"  made  by  Miss  Margaret 
Mayo,  and  produced  by  William  A.  Brady,  for  Miss 
George,  at  Wallack's  Theatre.  His  performance  was 
one  of  exceptional  merit,  and,  while  the  entire  produc- 
tion was  a  success,  Mr.  Worthing's  personation  was 
finer  than  any  of  the  performances  associated  with  it. 
On  February  22,  1909,  still  acting  in  association  with 
Miss  George,  he  appeared,  at  the  Hackett  Theatre, 
New  York,  as  Howard  Stanton,  in  "A  Woman's 
Way," — a  character  which,  taken  seriously,  would  be 
contemptible,  but  which,  impersonated,  as  it  was  by 
him,  in  the  mood  of  an  amiable  farceur,  and  made 
gracious  with  an  ingenuous  softness  and  a  buoyant 
manner,  became  plausible,  attractive,  and  deliciously 
droll.  Later  in  the  same  year  he  appeared  in  "Is 
Matrimony  a  Failure?"  and  at  the  time  of  his  death  he 
was  acting  on  the  road,  with  Miss  George,  in  Miss 
Geraldine  Bonner's  "Sauce  for  the  Goose." 

All  that  Mr.  Worthing  did  on  the  stage  was  ade- 
quate to  the  technical  requirements  of  his  profession; 
much  of  it  was  admirable.  He  was  a  thoroughly  con- 
scientious actor.  He  never  slighted  any  part  that  was 
assigned  to  him,  unless,  perhaps,  it  was  that  of  Orsino, 


200  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

in  "Twelfth  Night," — a  part  which  he  disliked  and 
which  he  was  constrained  to  act  against  his  will.  Like 
most  of  the  younger  actors  of  his  time,  especially  those 
of  England,  he  was  much  under  the  influence  of  Henry 
Irving,  whom  he  regarded  with  reverence,  though  he 
was  not  an  imitator  of  him.  He  had  studied  the  methods 
of  Charles  Wyndham  and  of  Charles  Coghlan,  hut  he 
was  original  in  mind,  and  eventually  he  formed  and 
used  a  style  of  his  own.  He  suffered  extremely  from 
nervous  excitement,  and  that,  together  with  his  exces- 
sive use  of  tobacco,  interfered  at  times  with  the  per- 
fect execution  of  his  design, — especially  on  the  occa- 
sion of  a  first  performance.  He  possessed  many  nat- 
ural advantages.  He  was  tall  and,  although  slightly 
eccentric  in  manner,  he  was  graceful;  he  possessed 
inherent  charm,  refinement,  and  delicacy.  The  lower 
part  of  his  face  was  expressive  of  extreme  sensibility; 
the  upper  part  was  strong  and  noble.  He  had  blue 
eyes,  of  unusual  mobility,  and  abundant  curling  hair, 
which,  becoming  streaked  with  gray  in  his  latter  years, 
made  his  aspect  exceedingly  picturesque.  So  much  in 
his  art  was  excellent  that  it  is  difficult  to  specify  what 
was  best.  He  reached  his  supreme  height  as  a  light 
comedian.  It  would  not  be  incorrect  to  name  Charles 
Surface  as  the  most  representative  of  all  his  impersona- 
tions. Pie  made  that  part  sympathetic  and  winning,  as 
well  as  merry  and  dashing,  by  reason  of  the  fine, 
honest    spirit,    reckless,    prodigal,    and    wild,    but    not 


FRANK   WORTHING  201 

depraved,  which  he  allowed  to  gleam  through  the 
extravagance  of  the  character.  Like  all  other  excep- 
tional actors,  he  varied  considerably,  but  at  his  best 
he  possessed,  under  absolute  control,  the  rare  and 
charming  faculty  of  giving  emphasis  to  a  mirthful  sit- 
uation or  a  merry  thought,  by  perfect  gravity  of 
demeanor,  by  a  comically  demure  aspect  of  innocence, 
and,  when  he  spoke,  by  a  delicious  drollery  of  vocal 
inflection.  Like  the  fine  comedian  Lester  Wallack, — 
whom,  more  than  any  other  actor  of  his  time,  he 
resembled,  and  with  whom,  more  than  any  other  actor 
of  his  time,  he  bore  comparison, — he  possessed  a  won- 
derfully sustained  flow  of  whimsical  vivacity  and  blithe 
animal  spirits,  combined  with  spontaneous  elegance 
of  demeanor;  and  he  could,  to  an  extraordinary  degree, 
impart  piquant  significance  to  even  half  a  line  or  an 
interjected  word, — as  when  Charles  Surface,  replying 
to  Sir  Oliver's  half  boastful,  half  regretful  remark, 
"We  shall  never  see  such  figures  of  men  again,"  archly 
ejaculates,  "I  hope  not!"  Furthermore,  he  could  express 
sentiment  and  tenderness  without  effusive  display,  and 
in  a  way  to  excite  sympathy  and  prompt  the  auditor's 
mind  to  serious  thought. 

When  Mr.  Worthing  made  his  first  appearance  in 
America,  acting  Sidney  Austin,  in  "Love  on  Crutches," 
he  succeeded  to  the  place  in  Daly's  company  which 
had  been  occupied  by  the  favorite  comedian  John  Drew, 
and,  within  a  short  time,  by  reason  of  attractive  per- 


202  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

sonality  and  efficient  art,  he  had  gained  for  himself 
a  warm  place  in  public  esteem.  He  was  from  the  first 
recognized  as  an  actor  of  refinement,  sensibility,  keen 
intelligence,  and  various  and  decisive  talents.  On  the 
occasion  of  his  first  appearance  at  Daly's  Theatre  his  act- 
ing manifested  extreme  agitation, — not  surprising  when 
it  is  considered  that  he  then  made  his  advent  as  a  mem- 
ber of  the  leading  theatrical  company  in  the  capital 
city  of  a  foreign  land, — but  the  effect  of  his  persona- 
tion of  Sidney  Austin  was  delightful.  The  farcical 
corned}7  of  "Love  on  Crutches"  ridicules  false  senti- 
ment, and  the  expedients  employed  in  it  are  those  of 
satire  and  comic  situation.  Some  of  the  incidents  of 
that  play  are  extravagant, — that  is  to  say,  they  are 
comically  discordant  with  probability;  nevertheless  the 
play  is  a  picture  of  manners  and  the  tone  of  it  is  pure 
and  bright.  Merriment  is  created  in  the  presentment 
of  it  by  a  portrayal  of  evanescent  matrimonial  dis- 
quietude sequent  on  the  fact  that  a  young  husband 
and  a  young  wife,  who  have  married  for  social,  con- 
ventional reasons  rather  than  because  of  love,  are 
secretly  engaged  in  a  sentimental  correspondence  with 
each  other, — each  supposing  the  other  to  be  a  stranger. 
Since  the  first  presentment  of  Sardou's  "Henriette" 
(in  the  far  distant  days  of  Wallack's  Theatre,  about 
1860),  afterward  called  "A  Scrap  of  Paper,"  noth- 
ing of  the  kind  had  been  more  entertaining  than  was 
the   second   act   of   "Love  on    Crutches,"    as   acted   by 


FRANK    WORTHING  203 

Ada    Rehan,    Frank    Worthing,    Mrs.    G.    H.    Gilbert, 
and     James     Lewis.       Mr.     Worthing's     performance, 
utilizing  and  blending,   with  rare  facility,   the  methods 
of  farce  and  comedy,  his  subtle  delineation  of  the  senti- 
mentalist    merging     into     the     honestly     jealous     hus- 
band  who   has   discovered   that   he   loves   his   wife,   was 
coherent,    symmetrical,   firm,    and   highly   effective,    and 
it  launched  the  actor  on  a  prosperous  American  career, 
which  proceeded  in  success  up  to  the  day  of  his  death. 
In  his  impersonation  of  Charles  Surface  Mr.   Wor- 
thing, as  already  intimated,  gave  the  finest  performance 
of   his   career.      His    ideal    of    Charles    was    correct, — a 
graceful,    gay    young    fellow,    reckless,    generous,    and 
wild,  but  without  a  taint  of  vice  in  his  composition, — 
and  his  performance  was  remarkable  for  the  even  sus- 
tainment    of    an    assumed    personality    and    for    fluency 
of  expression.     His  fine,  mobile  face  greatly  aided  him 
in  that  performance.     He  took  much  care  with   every 
detail   of   it — more    than   with   any   other   part   that   he 
ever    played.      He    wore    his    own    hair,    with    a    back 
piece  worked  in,  and  the  head  powdered.     Every  article 
of  his  costume  was  immaculately  clean  and  scrupulously 
arranged.     It  was  a  custom  of  his  to  wear  fresh  violets 
when  acting  Charles  Surface, — a  custom  which  brought 
him  into  conflict  with  his  arbitrary  manager,  Augustin 
Daly,  whose  rules  forbade  the  wearing  or  use  of  real 
flowers    on   his    stage.      Mr.    Worthing's    object,    which 
was  as  nearly  attained  as  it  could  be  in  a  play  of  which 


204  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

the  essence  is  an  atmosphere  of  studied  artificiality, 
was  to  present  a  veritable  human  being,  and  by  the 
right  artistic  expedients, — delicate  exaggeration,  studied 
but  seemingly  spontaneous  movement,  judicious  pause, 
inflection,  facial  play, — to  create  the  effect  of  Nature. 
In  doing  that  he  was  more  successful  in  the  part  of 
Charles  Surface  than  any  actor  who  had  preceded  him 
in  it  on  our  Stage  in  many  years.  He  had  neither 
the  golden  voice  nor  the  exquisite  grace  of  Charles 
Coghlan,  but  he  had  equal  authority  and  he  manifested 
in  the  part  a  finer  spirit.  He  greatly  excelled  his 
immediate  predecessors,' — such  as  John  Drew,  Kyrle 
Bellew,  George  Clarke, — and  the  best  of  his  successors, 
among  whom  may  be  mentioned  Charles  Richman  and 
Otis  Skinner,  and  his  performance  of  Charles  Surface 
was  in  every  way  equal  to  that  of  Lester  Wallack, 
and,  by  reason  of  the  absence  of  self-consciousness,  pref- 
erable to  it.  Most  actors  who  attempt  to  play  Charles 
Surface  make  painfully  obvious  the  fact  that  they  are 
attacking  a  part  in  Old  English  Comedy  which  is 
incrusted  with  tradition,  and  are  endeavoring,  more  or 
less  successfully,  to  assume  a  manner  harmonious  with 
the  period  of  powder  and  patches,  and  are  eagerly 
desirous  of  winning  applause  for  their  expertness  in 
doing  it.  Mr.  Worthing  produced  the  effect  of  being 
entirely  unconscious  equally  of  his  dress,  his  appear- 
ance, and  his  manner,  yet  in  reality  he  did  not,  even 
for   a   moment,    relax    his    vigilant    attention    to    every 


From  a  Photograph  by  Morrison,  Chicago.  In  the  Collection  of  the  Author 

FRANK    WORTHING 

as 
Charles  Surface,   in   "The   School   for   Scandal." 


FRANK   WORTHING  205 

detail  or  lapse  from  the  character,  so  that  his  per- 
formance created  and  sustained  the  ever  delightful 
effect  of  being  spontaneous,  involuntary,  absolutely 
natural.  He  was  one  of  the  few  representatives  of 
Charles  Surface  who  have  spoken  correctly  the  vitally 
significant  speech  "No,  hang  it!  I'll  never  part  with 
poor  Noll.  The  old  fellow  has  been  very  good  to  me, 
and,  egad,  I'll  keep  his  picture  while  I've  a  room  to 
put  it  in!" — a  speech  in  which,  for  some  inscrutable 
reason,   most  actors   emphasize   the   word   "picture." 

Mr.  Worthing,  happily,  was  not  universally  admired, 
— for  universal  admiration  is  a  tribute  not  accorded 
except  to  men  who  are  level  with  the  mass  of  man- 
kind. His  peculiarities  were  marked,  his  personality 
was  strong,  his  superiority  to  the  common  herd  invet- 
erate, and  therefore  he  could  not,  and  did  not,  escape 
animosity — sometimes  bitterly  severe  in  its  expression. 
That  fact,  however,  testifies  to  his  originality  and  sin- 
cerity. No  doubt  he  might  have  improved  his  acting  in 
some  respects  by  carefully  studying  all  objections  made 
to  it  and  heeding  the  judicious  part  of  those  objections, 
if  any  such  part  existed.  Far  too  much  press  atten- 
tion, however,  was  devoted  to  comment  on  his  peculiari- 
ties,— which  some  commentators  were  pleased  to  call 
"mannerisms," — and  often  far  too  little  attention  was 
given  to  his  ideals  of  character  and  to  his  extraor- 
dinary technical  proficiency  of  expression. 

Mr.  Worthing  was   a  gentleman  by  nature  as   well 


206  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

as  by  birth.  He  recognized  the  dignity  of  personal 
reticence  and  he  observed  it  in  his  conduct.  There 
was  no  affectation  in  him,  no  assumption  of  superiority 
or  importance.  He  was  simple,  unassuming,  gentle, 
and  kind.  He  had  positive  convictions  on  all  subjects 
that  interested  him,  but  even  with  intimate  friends, 
though  he  would  discuss  those  subjects  and  express 
those  convictions  with  force  and  fluency  when  occasion 
required,  he  preferred  to  listen  rather  than  to  speak. 
He  was  closely  observant.  He  was  greatty  liked  by 
persons  of  taste  and  discernment.  By  many  persons 
he  was  dearly  loved.  He  was  keenly  susceptible  to 
kindness.  Women  admired  him  and  he  greatly  valued 
their  approval.  His  feeling  toward  them  was  chivalrous, 
his  conduct  deferential.  He  could  easily  be  led  by 
sound  counsel,  if  it  were  presented  to  him  with  kind- 
ness and  fortified  by  reasons:  he  could  not  be  moved 
in  any  other  way.  He  thoroughly  understood  and 
deeply  respected  the  art  of  Acting.  He  had  a  good 
opinion  of  his  own  abilities,  knowing  himself  to  be  a 
fine  actor,  but  he  was  modest  and  he  was  aware  of 
his  limitations.  To  the  trivial  celebrity  of  being  a 
"star,"  under  modern  conditions,  he  was  indifferent. 
He  chose  to  make  his  path  where  he  could  accomplish 
the  most  of  true  success  in  his  profession.  His  experi- 
ence of  life  was  ample.  He  was  not  unacquainted  with 
sorrow.  He  bore  suffering  with  fortitude  and  patience. 
His  influence  was  strong  in  the  direction  of  right.     He 


FRANK   WORTHING  207 

carried  into  the  Present  the  sound  traditions  and  more 
thorough  methods  of  an  earlier  period  of  the  Stage,  and 
his  every  appearance  was  a  demonstration  of  the 
superiority  of  trained  ability  over  mere  3Touth  and 
assurance.  The  Stage  lost  in  him  an  excellent  general 
actor  and  the  best  light  comedian  of  the  day,  and 
society  lost  a  good  and  amiable  man.  His  friends  will 
long  remember  and  deeply  deplore  a  dear  comrade, 
whom  to  know  was  to  love.  So,  one  by  one,  the  lights 
go  out  and  the  brilliant  figures  vanish  from  the  scene, 
and  it  is  strangely  left  for  hands  grown  old  and 
tremulous  in  the  service  of  the  Theatre  to  bring  the 
tribute  of  commemoration  to  youth  stricken  in  its  prime 
of  hope  and  purpose. 

CYPRESS. 

[The  Elegy  for  Worthing,  written  by  me  on  January  3,  1911,  a  few  days 
after  his  death,  expresses  for  other  hearts  as  well  as  mine  the  affection  that 
he  inspired  and  the  spirit  in  which  he  is  remembered. — W.  W.] 

No  roses  now,  nor  anything  of  bloom, 

But  only  here 
One  leaf  of  sorrow  on  his  early  tomb, 

Wet  with  a  tear ! 

Not  laurel  for  a  life  which,  being  his, 

Was   simply   true, — 
But  only  this  sad  cypress  bough,  which  is 

The  sign  of  rue! 

He  was  a  creature  of  that  substance  fine,     v 

Gentle  and  sweet, 
In  which  man's  will  and  woman's  heart  combine 

And  are  complete. 


208  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

He  is  at  rest — too  early  for  our  sake, 

But  'tis  a  rest 
That  his  worn  spirit  often  wished  to  take, 

And  so   'tis  blest. 

We  talk  of  things  accomplished  by  his  art, — 
The  thought — the  plan, — 

But,  oh,  the  thing  most  precious  to  our  heart 
Was  just  the  man! 

We  cared  not  whether  he  was  harshly  chid 

Or  won  applause; 
We  dearly  loved  him,  not  for  what  he  did, 

But  what  he  was. 

Yet  what  he  did  was  lovely,  and  our  thought 

Will  ever  run 
That  much  by  him,  who  had  so  deftly  wrought, 

Might  still  be  done. 

What  matter  now,  though  Memory  may  deplore 

Or  may  rejoice? — 
We  shall  not  ever  see  him  any  more, 

Or  hear  his  voice. 

Something  is  wrested  from  us,  far  more  dear 

To  love  than  fame ; 
And  never  life,  with  him  no  longer  here, 

Can  be  the  same. 

Farewell,  old   friend!  upon  thy  sacred  sleep 

I  lay  this  bough 
Of  mourning  cypress,  which  will  ever  weep, 

As  I  do  now! 


VI. 

MAUDE    ADAMS. 
1872—19—. 

Maude  Adams,,  whose  family  name  is  Kiskaden,  was 
born  at  Salt  Lake  City,  Utah,  on  November  11, 
1872.  Her  mother,  Annie  A.  Adams,  now  retired,  was 
at  one  time  well  known  on  the  Stage.  Her  father, 
James  Kiskaden,  was  a  business  man,  resident  in  the 
city  of  her  birth.  She  was  carried  on  the  stage  when 
only  nine  months  old,  in  a  play  called  "The  Lost 
Child,"  at  the  Salt  Lake  Theatre,  Salt  Lake  City,  and 
that  was  her  first  appearance.  At  the  age  of  five  she 
appeared  at  the  Bush  Street  Theatre,  San  Francisco, 
in  one  of  J.  K.  Emmet's  "Fritz"  plays.  She  attended 
school  between  the  years  1878  and  1888.  In  the 
autumn  of  1888  she  came  to  New  York,  and  on 
March  5,  1889,  at  the  Bijou  Theatre,  appeared,  as 
Dot  Bradbury,  in  Charles  Hoyt's  farce  of  "A  Mid- 
night Bell,"  and  she  has  since  been  in  almost  continuous 
practice  of  the  dramatic  profession.  In  1892  she  was 
made  leading  woman  in  the  company  of  the  popular 
comedian  John  Drew,  who,  having  retired  from  Augustin 
Daly's    company,    then    began    his    career    as    a    star. 

209 


•210  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

Miss  Adams  pleased  the  public  taste  as  Suzanne,  in  "The 
Masked  Ball";  Miriam  Stuart-Dodge,  in  "The  Butter- 
flies"; Jessie  Keber,  in  "The  Bauble  Shop,"  and,  espe- 
cially, as  Dorothy  Cruickshank,  in  the  sterling  comedy 
of  "Rosemary,"  perhaps  the  loveliest  of  the  inventive, 
sympathetic  plays  of  that  original,  accomplished  dram- 
atist Louis  N.  Parker.  In  1897  she  was  created  a  "star" 
by  Mr.  Charles  Frohman,  and  she  made  her  first  appear- 
ance in  that  capacity  as  Lady  Babbie,  in  "The  Little 
Minister,"  on  September  13,  at  the  Lafayette  Square 
Opera  House,  Washington,  D.  C.  Miss  Adams  is  an 
actress  of  amiable  personality  and  respectable  talent. 
Her  professional  career  has  been  a  triumph  of  incarnate 
mediocrity.  Beside  Lady  Babbie  the  principal  vehicles 
of  her  professional  exploitation, — in  which  her  manager, 
Mr.  Frohman,  has  labored  with  incessant  assiduity, — 
have  been  Juliet,  in  "Romeo  and  Juliet";  Reiehstadt, 
in  "The  Eaglet"  ("L'Aiglon")  ;  Phoebe  Throssell,  in 
"Quality  Street";  Pepita,  in  "The  Pretty  Sister  of 
Jose";  Chicot,  in  "The  Jesters";  Maggie  Wylie,  in 
"What  Every  Woman  Knows,"  and  Chanticler,  in 
Rostand's  barnyard  drama,  so  named.  No  actress  has 
been  more  prosperous,  and,  considering  the  "fine  oppor- 
tunities that  have  been  provided  for  her,  and  making 
due  allowance  for  her  hard  work,  good  intentions,  and 
occasional  felicity,  no  actress  has  risen  to  great  promi- 
nence on  the  American  Stage,  in  any  period,  possessing 


MAUDE    ADAMS  211 

so    little    intrinsic    talent   or    having    done   so    little    to 
deserve  position  and  reward. 

"THE    LITTLE    MINISTER." 

The  popularity  enjoyed  by  Maude  Adams  is  kin- 
dred with  that  which  was  possessed  about  forty  years 
ago  by  Maggie  Mitchell,  and  it  has  been  accorded 
to  kindred  acting.  The  innocent,  artless,  waif-like, 
almost  elfin  personality  of  Miss  Adams  is  attractive, 
despite  her  nasal  vocalism  and  "Down-East"  manner, 
and  she  diffuses  the  charm  of  an  ingenuous  temperament. 
Imagination,  passion,  distinction,  intellectual  character, 
brilliancy,  and  force  are  not  among  her  attributes,  and 
consequently  are  not  shown  in  her  acting,  but  her  half- 
rueful  aspect  and  her  gentle  ways,  now  demurely  serious 
and  now  gleefully  buoyant,  invest  her  theatrical  pro- 
ceedings with  winning  grace,  so  that  to  remember  her 
performances  is  to  think  of  an  odd,  quaint,  brisk  little 
creature,  essentially  feminine,  prone  to  variable  moods, 
and  spontaneous  in  the  expression  of  them. 

Miss  Adams  appeared  as  Lady  Babbie,  in  "The 
Little  Minister,"  for  the  first  time  in  New  York,  on 
September  27,  1897,  at  the  Empire  Theatre,  and 
gained  the  most  auspicious  success  of  her  professional 
career  by  her  vivacious  impersonation  of  Barrie's  fan- 
tastic, half-elfish  heroine.  The  character  of  Babbie, 
diluted  and  much  changed  from  what  it  is  in  the 
original    novel    (for    Barrie    altered    and    enfeebled    his 


212  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

story,  in  the  process  of  turning  it  into  a  play),  is  con- 
formable, in  many  respects,  to  her  temperament  and 
her  powers,  and  it  enabled  her  to  express,  with  engag- 
ing effect,  impulse,  pertness,  perversity,  caprice,  dis- 
content, mischief,  longing,  self-will,  arch  and  tantalizing 
recklessness,  and,  in  short,  the  manifold  traits  of  way- 
ward sweetness  and  charmingly  irrational  contradiction 
that  make  up  the  nature  of  an  original,  impetuous  girl. 
To  the  emotional  power  of  Babbie,  as  drawn  in  the 
novel,  the  actress  could  not  give  adequate  expression, 
but  that  element,  fortunately  for  her,  was  not  involved 
in  the   play. 

There  are  wonderfully  fine  things  in  Barrie's  pages 
which  are  not  even  suggested  in  his  drama, — such,  for 
example,  as  the  scene  of  the  gypsy  marriage,  suddenly 
disclosed  by  a  flash  of  lightning,  in  the  night  and 
beneath  the  black  horror  of  an  impending  tempest;  the 
escape  of  Babbie  from  the  clutches  of  Rob  Dow,  at  the 
moment  when  he  is  about  to  plunge  her  into  the  hidden 
well;  and  the  parting  speech  of  the  Minister,  from  the 
brink  of  the  raging  torrent  which  seems  certain  to  bear 
him  to  his  death.  Those  and  many  kindred  beauties  of 
the  novel  could  not  be  reproduced  on  the  stage.  The 
story  has  been  made  to  yield  a  light  domestic  drama 
composed  of  a  series  of  episodes,  diversified  by  a  few 
touches  of  romantic  sentiment,  and  sprightly  with  play- 
ful humor.  The  scene  in  which  Babbie  becomes  assured 
of    her    safety,    on    incidentally    ascertaining    that    her 


MAUDE    ADAMS  213 

Scotch  marriage  with  the  Minister  is  valid,  rises  into 
comedy — by  means  of  an  adroit  crib  from  one  of  the 
novels  of  Wilkie  Collins — and  provides  a  capital  oppor- 
tunity for  a  strong  comedy  actress.  That  crowning 
occasion  was  not  utilized  by  Miss  Adams,  who,  at  that 
point,  lapsed  into  frivolity  and  flutter.  It  is  true  that, 
while  the  shallows  murmur,  the  deeps  are  dumb, — as 
the  old  familiar  line  says, — but,  in  acting,  the  deeps 
have  a  way  of  expressing  themselves,  when  they  happen 
to  exist.  Miss  Adams  and  her  associates,  exploiting 
a  neat  but  inadequate  paraphrase  of  "The  Little  Min- 
ister," gave  a  prett}*  and  pleasing  entertainment,  but 
persons  who  wish  thoroughly  to  understand  and  enjoy 
Barrie's  novel, — which  is  one  of  the  deepest,  sweetest, 
and  most  significant  creations  of  modern  fiction, — must 
turn  to  the  book,  not  to  the  stage.  Meanwhile  the 
stage  abstract  or  moving  epitome  of  the  novel  con- 
tains enough  of  a  story  about  love  and  its  crosses,  with 
the  concomitants  of  character,  incident,  adventure,  and 
suspense,  to  hold  the  eager  attention  of  an  audience;  it 
is  all  sweet  and  pure;  it  is  always  welcome;  and  Miss 
Adams  has  presented  "The  Little  Minister"  many  hun- 
dred times,  and  its  presentment  has  earned  several 
fortunes. 

"ROMEO    AND    JULIET." 

On  May  8,  1899,  a  production  of  "Romeo  and 
Juliet"  was  accomplished  at  the  Empire  Theatre,  New 
York,  and  Miss  Adams  presented  herself  as  Juliet,  while 


2U  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

William  Faversham  appeared  as  Jiomeo,  and  James  K. 
Hackett  emerged  as  Mercutio.  The  proceedings  that 
c  vening  were  unusually  sad  proceedings,  and  it  was 
not  easy  to  comprehend  either  the  motive  that  prompted 
them  or  the  purpose  that  they  were  expected  to  serve. 
"Romeo  and  Juliet,"  indeed,  is  a  great  tragedy,  and  a 
great  performance  of  it,  probably,  would  impress  many 
persons  and  redound  to  the  credit  of  all  concerned  in 
effecting  it.  The  design  of  giving  such  a  performance, — 
the  parts  being  east  to  suitable  actors  and  an  impor- 
tant subject  being  treated  with  adequate  ability, — could 
readily  be  understood:  the  plan  of  experimental  fooling 
with  one  of  the  most  difficult  of  Shakespeare's  tragedies, 
the  chief  parts  being  cast  to  performers  so  entirely 
unsuited  to  them  as  Miss  Adams,  Mr.  Faversham,  and 
Mr.  Hackett,  seemed  inexplicable.  Vanity,  which  is  the 
strongest  of  human  passions,  was,  probably,  at  the  basis 
of  it, — as  it  is  at  the  basis  of  almost  everything:  but, 
whatever  may  have  been  the  impulse,  there  could  be  no 
doubt  about  the  dire  result.  Mediocrity  has  seldom 
made  a  more  injudicious  endeavor  or  encountered  a 
more  decisive  defeat. 

The  theme  of  "Romeo  and  Juliet"  is  idolatrous  love 
predestined  to  ruin  and  misery,  and  therefore  the  play 
is  saturated  with  passion  and  steeped  in  grief.  Under 
ordinary  circumstances  love  walks  hand  in  hand  with 
hope,  traversing  a  field  of  flowers,  beneath  a  blue  sky 
and  a  golden  sun.     Under  the  circumstances  devised  in 


MAUDE    ADAMS  215 

this  tragedy  love  walks  hand  in  hand  with  sorrow, 
descending  into  a  lonely  and  sterile  place,  over  which 
the  sky  slowly  darkens  and  a  gray  mist  is  drifted  on  a 
chill  wind  of  death.  Almost  from  its  first  word  the 
play  is  over-brooded  with  a  vague  menace  of  deadly 
danger.  Both  the  lovers  are  conscious  of  this  presenti- 
ment; both  are  aware  of  "some  consequence  yet  hanging 
in  the  stars,"  some  baleful  influence,  remote  but  inerrant, 
which  will  inevitably  impel  them  onward  to  despair  and 
death,  some  subtle  spirit  of  evil  which  the3r  darkly  know 
but  which  they  are  powerless  to  resist.  The  poet  Byron 
glanced  at  this  malevolent  force,  in  that  felicitous 
phrase  of  his  "the  fatal  gift  of  beauty."  Shakespeare, 
with  a  more  expositive  art,  revealed  it  in  this  clear 
denotement  of  the  fatal  visitation  of  love, — not  the 
rational,  easy-going  desire,  part  animal  and  part  conven- 
tional, which  passes  for  the  sovereign  emotion, — but 
that  absorbing,  consuming  passion,  stronger  than  death 
and  more  cruel  than  the  grave,  which,  in  its  effect  upon 
exceptional  natures,  has  glorified  literature  with  gran- 
deur and  pathos,  and  has  touched  the  pageantry  of 
human  life  with  the  sunset  light  of  immortal  beauty. 
A  tragedy  thus  freighted  with  spiritual  meaning  can 
be  adequately  interpreted  only  by  the  power  of  genius, 
operating  through  the  methods  and  with  the  agencies  of 
poetry.  Prosy  persons,  proficient  in  stage  routine,  can 
act  well  enough  such  parts  as  old  Capidet  and  old 
Montague,   Lady   Capulet   and   the   Nurse,   Paris   and 


216  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

Benvolio,  the  explosive  Tybalt  and  the  didaetic  Friar 
Lawrence;  hut  prosy  persons  cannot  act  Romeo,  Mer- 
CutiOj  or  Juliet.  The  modern  drawing-room  method  will 
not  answer  here:  Romeo  without  sensibility,  passion,  and 
power;  Mercutio  without  brilliancy,  charm,  and  sparkle; 
Juliet  without  the  beauty  that  subdues,  the  glamour  that 
enchants,  the  passion  that  enthralls,  and  the  poetic  per- 
sonality that  bewilders  judgment  and  turns  all  life  to 
fire  and  ecstasy, — they  are  impossible. 

Romeo's  passion  is  subjective:  he  loves  being  in  love 
more  than  he  loves  any  woman.  In  Juliet  there  is  no  sub- 
tlety: love  changes  her,  at  once,  from  girl  to  woman,  and 
makes  her  strong  and  glorious  in  her  power  of  self-devo- 
tion and  sacrifice.  Mercutio  also,  while  superbly  poetic,  is 
splendidly  true, — the  consummate  flower  of  comedy,  mak- 
ing sunshine  all  the  way,  and  dying  with  a  jest  on  his  lips 
and  agony  in  his  heart.  To  take  Mr.  Faversham,  Miss 
Adams,  and  Mr.  Hackett  out  of  conventional  plays 
of  the  hour  and  suddenly  launch  them  into  Shakespeare 
was  to  subject  them  to  a  test  that  no  observer  acquainted 
with  their  previous  performances  and  with  Shake- 
spearean requirements  reasonably  could  have  expected 
them  to  endure.  Neither  of  them  had  shown  imagina- 
tion or  reserves  of  deep  feeling;  neither  of  them  had 
been  accustomed  to  speak  blank  verse.  Miss  Adams,  a 
delicate,  seemingly  fragile  and  febrile  person,  in  the 
Potion  Scene  of  Juliet  might  have  been  expected  to 
supply  a  specimen  of  mild  hysterics.    That  was  feasible, 


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MAUDE    ADAMS  217 

and  that  was  afforded.  The  individual  charm  of  girl- 
like sincerity  which  is  peculiar  to  Miss  Adams  swathed 
her  performance  of  Juliet  with  an  amiable,  winning 
softness,  eliciting  sympathy  and  inspiring  kindness. 
Beyond  that  there  was  nothing.  Many  school-girls, 
with  a  little  practice,  would  play  the  part  as  well — and 
would  be  no  more  unlike  it.  Some  of  the  part  was 
whispered  and  some  of  it  was  bleated.  The  personality 
thus  exhibited  as  that  of  Juliet  was  that  of  an  intel- 
lectual young  lady  from  Boston,  competent  in  the 
mathematics  and  intent  on  teaching  pedagogy.  A 
Balcony  Scene  without  passion,  a  Parting  Scene  with- 
out the  delirium  of  grief,  and  a  Potion  Scene  without 
power  or  pathos  were  the  products  of  Miss  Adams' 
dramatic  art.  Dr.  Johnson's  remark  about  the  dancing 
bear  is  too  familiar  for  repetition, — but  repetition  of  it, 
in  this  case,  would  cover  the  whole  ground.  "Borneo 
and  Juliet"  was  dropped  from  the  repertory  of  Miss 
Adams  after  a  brief  tour. 

"THE    EAGLET." 

The  Duke  of  Reichstadt,  son  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte 
and  his  second  consort,  Marie  Louise  of  Austria,  was 
a  frivolous  young  man,  whose  early  exit  from  this 
vale  of  tears  was  said  to  have  been  caused  by  his  incon- 
tinence.  Fanny  Elssler  (she  of  the  classic  head,  the 
dazzling  white  complexion,  the  shining,  braided  chest- 
nut hair,   the  tall,  lithe,   perfect  figure, — all  grace  and 


218  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

strength, — and  the  enthralling  charm)  had  heen  one  of 
his  intimate  associates.  He  died  at  Schonbrunn,  Austria, 
in  the  summer  of  1832,  at  the  age  of  twenty-one,  leaving 
the  memory  of  a  pinchbeck  royalty,  a  vapid  character, 
and  a  wasted  life.  That  shadow  of  a  king  is  the  central 
figure  in  Edmond  Rostand's  drama  of  "L'Aiglon," 
originally  presented  in  Paris,  March  15,  1900,  and, 
after  a  trial  week  at  Baltimore,  produced,  October  22, 
in  English,  at  the  Knickerbocker  Theatre,  New  York. 
As  Napoleon  Bonaparte  was  called  "the  Eagle,"  his 
son  is  designated  "the  Eaglet."  Hence  the  name  of 
the  play.  Miss  Maude  Adams  embodied,  after  her 
pretty  fashion,  the  character  of  Reichstadt. 

According  to  Rostand's  play,  Reichstadt,  dwelling 
at  Schonbrunn,  under  the  supervision  of  Metternich, 
was  incited  by  agents  of  the  Bonapartists  to  attempt 
escape  from  Austrian  custody  and  to  assume  the  leader- 
ship of  a  conspiracy  to  seize  the  throne  of  France,  then 
occupied  by  Louis  Philippe.  The  project  was  frustrated 
partly  because  of  the  young  man's  inherent  imbecility 
and  partly  because  of  the  dexterity  of  his  diplomatic 
custodians,  dominated  by  the  astute,  expeditious  Metter- 
nich.  In  the  course  of  his  pursuit  of  freedom  and  a 
crown  Reichstadt  reached  the  lonely  battlefield  of 
Wagram,  and  there,  as  a  climax  to  his  failure,  he  was 
overwhelmed  with  visions  of  horror, — the  scenes  of 
anguish  that  were  precipitated,  and  the  ghosts  of  men 
that   were   slaughtered,    through    the   ruthless   ambition 


MAUDE    ADAMS  219 

of  his  imperial  father.  Admonished  by  that  experience, 
he  besought  celestial  pardon  for  having  undertaken  to 
raise  again  the  standard  of  war,  and,  on  being  con- 
veyed back  to  his  Austrian  residence,  he  died,  heart- 
broken, of  pneumonia.  This  story  has  been  set  forth 
by  Rostand  in  a  series  of  pictures,  deftly  intertwined 
with  a  melodious  text,  composed  mostly,  in  the  original, 
of  descriptions  and  apostrophes,  but  cut  and  condensed 
by  Mr.  Louis  N.  Parker,  in  a  neat  adaptation.  There 
are  various  minor  incidents,  cleverly  arranged  and  dis- 
persed. Reichstadfs  amatory  proceedings  are,  some- 
what comically,  ascribed  to  subtle  and  ingenious 
supervisory  influence,  and  the  saltatory  Elssler  is 
revealed  in  the  astonishing  character  of  a  Bonapartist 
sibyl,  inciting  the  spineless  Duke  to  seize  the  falchion 
and  emulate  the  example  of  his  illustrious  parent.  A 
dramatist,  however,  is  justifiable  in  bending  history  to 
his   purpose. 

Rostand's  bland  imitation  of  Shakespeare  can  not  be 
viewed  with  equal  tolerance.  The  scene  with  the  mirror 
is  a  variant  from  "King  Richard  II.";  the  scene  of  the 
spectres  is  a  variant  from  "King  Richard  III.";  the 
rebuke  scene,  between  the  Duke  and  his  mother,  is  a 
variant  from  "Hamlet";  and  throughout  the  portraiture 
of  Reichstadt  an  effort  is  obvious  to  invest  that  nerve- 
less,  ambiguous,  indecisive,  fluctuative  youth  with  the 
despondent  temperament,  the  agonizing  tremor,  and  the 
preordinate  desolation  of  the  haunted  Dane.     Rostand's 


220  THE  WALLET  OF  TIME 

Reichstadt,  indeed,  has  been  designated  "a  French 
1 1  (unlet/1  In  like  manner  Klopstock  was  called  "a 
German  Milton";  and  Coleridge,  assenting,  remarked 
that  he  was,  indeed,  "a  very  German  Milton."  Looking 
at  the  fibre  of  character, — whatever  may  have  been  the 
author's  intention, — there  is  no  resemblance  between 
the  Duke  of  Reichstadt  (whether  in  fact  or  fiction)  and 
the  Hamlet  of  Shakespeare's  play.  Hamlet  was  irreso- 
lute because  of  his  "large  discourse  of  reason,"  and 
because  his  reason  was  overwhelmed  by  the  awful  mys- 
tery of  man's  spiritual  environment.  Reichstadt  is 
irresolute  because  he  is  a  paltry,  effeminate  boy,  and, — 
to  borrow  Hamlet's  pitying  designation  of  what  he  most 
despised, — "a  pipe  for  Fortune's  finger  to  sound  what 
stop  she  please." 

The  broadest,  deepest,  and  finest  study  that  has  been 
made  in  literature  of  what  can  appropriately  be  called 
the  poetical  wreck  of  a  royal  life, — the  utter  failure 
and  ruin,  that  is  to  say,  of  a  weak  but  attractive  char- 
acter, set  in  a  high  place  and  enmeshed  and  overborne 
by  the  puissant  adversity  of  hostile  circumstances, — was 
made  by  Shakespeare,  in  "King  Richard  II."  "The 
shadow  of  your  sorrow  hath  destroyed  the  shadow  of 
your  face."  For  human  beings,  indeed,  who  do  not 
possess  power  of  will  and  capability  of  endurance,  this 
world  is  made  up  of  shadows.  So  much  can  be  learned 
from  "King  Richard  II."  by  those  who  have  not  learned 
it  from  experience.     There  was  no  need  to  reiterate  the 


MAUDE  ADAMS  221 

moral.  When  a  thing  has  once  been  thoroughly  well 
done  there  would  seem  to  be  no  good  reason  why  it 
should  be  again  attempted.  It  was  natural,  however, 
that  a  Gallic  bard  should  aim  to  reanimate  a  French 
historic  figure  which  certainly  was  picturesquely 
environed,  and  Rostand's  choice  of  a  subject  was  felici- 
tous for  his  own  land  and  people. 

The  period  of  the  play  is  1831-'32.  It  was  in  1831 
that  the  Duke  of  Reichstadt, — who  had,  in  1818, 
received  his  title  from  the  Emperor  of  Austria, — was 
made  a  lieutenant-colonel  commanding  one  of  the  Hun- 
garian regiments  of  infantry,  in  Vienna.  The  fore- 
ground of  the  play  shows  the  surveillance  and  tutelage 
under  which  he  was  restrained  and  made  to  live,  and  is 
artfully  and  well  devised  to  inspire  and  sustain  a  feeling 
of  suspense  as  to  the  possibility  of  his  success  in  his 
project  of  escape.  Bonapartist  emissaries,  disguised  as 
a  milliner  and  a  tailor,  obtain  access  to  him.  Fanny 
Elssler  embraces  him,  and  recounts  the  martial  exploits 
of  Napoleon.  Wooden  soldiers,  the  playthings  of  chil- 
dren, are  utilized  for  the  conveyance  to  him  of  a  mes- 
sage of  sympathy  and  a  promise  of  support.  He 
beseeches  the  Austrian  Emperor  for  permission  to  return 
to  France.  His  weakness  and  the  futility  of  his 
Napoleonic  ambitions  are  signified  to  him,  with  a  fine, 
subtle,  exasperating  irony,  by  the  polished  Metternich, 
who,  literally,  "sets  him  up  a  glass,  where  he  may  read 
the  inmost  part  of"  an  irresolute,  feeble  soul  and  mind, 


222  THE  WALLET  OF  TIME 

and  thereupon  he  dashes  the  mirror  into  fragments, 
and  straightway,  in  a  sort  of  paroxysm  of  hysterical 
resentment,  plunges  into  conspiracy  and  shatters  him- 
self to  pieces  against  the  iron  ramparts  of  a  destiny  of 
disaster.  In  the  dreary  night  on  the  haunted  field  of 
Wagram  he  succumbs,  and,  after  that,  death  speedily 
puts  a  period  to  his  trouble,  weakness,  and  grief.  It 
is  the  tale  of  a  miserable  youth,  shadowed  forth  in 
a  series  of  episodical  pictures.  The  incidents  of  the 
deathbed, — the  production  of  the  first  Napoleon's  iron 
camp  bedstead  and  the  gold  cradle  of  the  King  of  Rome, 
etc., — are  sorrowful,  because  such  things  point  the  moral 
of  human  vanity:  "Man  goeth  to  his  long  home,  and 
the  mourners  go  about  the  streets."  The  scene  on  the 
haunted  battlefield,  following  closely  after  Sardou's 
scene,  for  Robespierre,,  in  the  haunted  prison  of  the 
Conciergerie,  fine  as  it  is,  caused  the  effect  of  an  echo. 
In  that  passage  and  in  the  Mirror  Scene  the  formidable 
veteran  Sarah  Bernhardt,  acting  the  part  in  Paris  (and 
later  in  New  York),  put  forth  all  the  power  of  her 
impetuous  nature  and  caused  a  striking  effect  of  pas- 
sionate excitement.  Miss  Adams  also,  at  those  points, 
created  a  tempest,  but  it  was  only  a  tempest  in  a  tea- 
pot. 

The  characteristic  attributes  of  ReicJistadt,  as  shown 
in  the  play,  being  physical  attenuation,  mental  lassitude, 
childish  impatience,  irritability  of  the  nervous  system, 
petulance  of  temper,  a  diseased  fancy,  morbid  gloom, 


MAUDE    ADAMS  223 

and  a  general  vacuity  of  being  and  frivolity  of  purpose, 
Miss  Adams, — essentially  a  delicate,  fragile  actress, 
devoid  of  power  and  puny  in  style, — was  able  to  give 
a  fairly  effective  imitation  of  the  author's  ideal.  A 
male  character  should  not,  in  general,  be  assumed  by  a 
female.  Few  female  performers  have  wholly  succeeded 
in  simulating  masculine  personality.  Once  in  a  while 
a  woman  has  given  on  the  stage  a  close  imitation  of  a 
boy,  in  scenes  of  vivacity:  Mrs.  John  Wood,  Adelaide 
Neilson,  and  Ada  Rehan,  in  particular,  have  done  that, 
within  a  veteran's  remembrance:  but,  in  general,  the 
woman  pretending  to  be  a  man  produces  an  impression 
of  something  unhealthful  and  unnatural.  In  the  case 
of  Reichstadt,  the  youth  is  effeminate  and  wayward,  and 
Miss  Adams  so  presented  him.  She  did  not,  however, 
invest  him  with  masculinity  or  personal  charm.  She 
was  moderately  effective  in  the  Mirror  Scene,  but  in  that 
of  the  haunted  battlefield, — which  requires  imaginative 
excitement,  an  emotion  of  terror,  and  a  display  of 
spasmodic  force, — she  was  inadequate.  The  situation, 
however,  carries  itself.  Despite  her  physical  weakness, 
nasal  utterance,  indistinct  articulation  in  rapid  speech, 
and  high,  thin  tones  that  cannot  convey  feeling,  the 
vehemence  of  the  little  actress  was  inspiriting.  She  was 
at  her  best  in  the  scene  of  supplication  and  childlike 
blandishment  with  the  old  Austrian  Emperor.  The 
vein  of  Miss  Adams  is  domestic  and  romantic — not 
tragic.     She  carried  the  Second  Act  of  the  play   (which, 


224  THE   WALLET    OF    TIME 

in  point  of  comedy  and  of  construction,  is  the  best) 
with  sustained  vivacity  and  gratifying  skill.  The  part, 
though  somewhat  insipid,  does  admit  of  occasional  aban- 
donment. Possessed  of  a  gentle  personality  and  capable 
of  a  piquant  behavior,  Miss  Adams  was  a  sprightly  and 
bonnie  lass  in  "The  Little  Minister,"  and  that  perform- 
ance furnished  the  measure  of  her  ability.  As  Reich- 
stadt  she  gave  an  intelligent  performance,  on  a  common- 
place level.  It  is  idle  to  discuss  the  acting  of  Maude 
Adams  as  a  manifestation  of  dramatic  genius,  or  as  an 
artistic  display  of  anything  finer  or  more  important 
than  the  pretty  water  colors  of  an  Italian  fresco.  She 
stands  at  about  the  altitude  of  Catharine  M  or  eland,  in 
Miss  Austen's  fine  novel  of  "Northanger  Abbey"; — 
and  that  is  high  praise.  In  the  uniform  of  an  Austrian 
colonel  she  presented  a  trim  and  jaunty  figure. 

When  "L'Aiglon"  was  first  acted  in  Paris,  with 
Sarah  Bernhardt  as  Reichstadt,  its  references  to  the  for- 
mer military  achievements  of  France, — all  achievements  of 
the  cut-throat  order  being  considered  "glories," — caused 
a  prodigious  emotion  to  surge  in  the  Gallic  bosom,  and 
the  result  of  that  noble  excitement  was  a  general  oscu- 
lation. Sardou  kissed  Rostand;  Coquelin  kissed  Bern- 
hardt, and  there  was  a  miscellaneous  exchange  of  kisses 
among  princes,  potentates,  politicians,  and  martial 
chieftains,  such  as  might  have  satisfied  old  Falstaff's 
adjuration  to  "let  it  rain  kissing  comfits  and  snow 
eringoes!"    No  such  result  was  produced  when  the  play 


MAUDE    ADAMS  225 

was  acted  in  New  York.  Suggestions  of  the  sanguinary 
career  of  that  vulgar,  unscrupulous,  wicked,  and  hateful, 
though  indomitable,  brilliant,  and  consummately  able 
military  tyrant  Napoleon  Bonaparte  were  received 
with  composure,  and  the  melancholy  fact  that  the  son 
did  not  succeed  in  imitating  the  sire  was  accepted  with 
resignation.  To  enjoy  the  drama  of  "The  Eaglet"  the 
spectator  must  be  one  of  those  ingenuous  and  confiding 
readers  of  history  who,  uninstructed  by  copious  modern 
revelations  of  the  truth,  still  cling  to  the  belief  that 
Napoleon  Bonaparte  was  a  hero,  that  his  character  was 
splendid,  his  life  glorious,  his  exile  lamentable,  his  death 
pathetic,  and  his  fate  a  cruelty,  forever  to  be  deplored. 
Credulous  souls  of  that  persuasion  still  abound,  and 
"The  Eaglet"  ought  to  be  a  comfort  to  them — even 
when  it  is  presented  by  an  actress  unequal  to  the  lead- 
ing part.  More  exigent  observers, — feeling  that  senti- 
mental regret  for  the  Napoleonic  dynasty  is  something 
for  which  no  friend  of  human  liberty  and  civilization 
has  any  ground,  or  could  find  any  reason, — cannot  be 
much  affected  by  it.  The  public  gain  in  the  present- 
ment of  "The  Eaglet"  was  knowledge  of  a  French 
drama  of  considerable  pictorial  merit  and  technical 
ingenuity  and  of  much  publicity  and  vogue;  an  impulse 
to  the  reviewal  of  salient  passages  in  French  history 
and  to  the  closer  observance  of  French  politics ;  reminders 
of  a  fatuous  but  not  wholly  uninteresting  historic  per- 
sonage; and,  finally,  such  enjoyment  as  could  be  derived 


226  THE   WALLET    OF    TIME 

Prom  gazing  on  luminous  scenic  tableaux  and  seeing  sev- 
eral line  achievements  in  the  art  of  acting.  John  H. 
Gilmour,  impersonating  one  of  those  sturdy  soldiers  of 
the  Empire  that  were  prevalent  and  delightful  on  the 
stage  in  the  distant  days  of  Henry  Placide  and  John 
Niekinson,  touched  the  heart  by  his  natural,  simple, 
powerful  expression  of  blunt  honesty,  gruff  humor, 
and  dauntless  fidelity.  The  tribute  to  the  Old  Guard 
was  spoken  by  that  fine  actor  in  a  strain  of  pas- 
sionate eloquence,  and  his  depiction  of  the  death  of 
Flambeau, — self-inflicted  by  the  veteran,  to  avoid  capt- 
ure,— was  essentially   the   climax   of  the   representation. 

"QUALITY    STREET." 

On  November  11,  1901,  Barrie's  play  of  "Quality 
Street"  was,  after  various  preliminary  performances  in 
other  cities,  produced  at  the  Knickerbocker  Theatre, 
New  York,  Miss  Adams  acting  the  principal  part  in  it, 
Phoebe  Tkrossell.  In  that  play  Mr.  Barrie  has  told 
a  pretty  love  story  in  a  happy  vein  of  simplicity,  refine- 
ment, tenderness,  and  truth,  and  Miss  Adams  was  pro- 
vided with  a  sweet  and  gentle  character,  harmonious 
with  her  temperament  and  level  with  her.  talents, — a 
part  making  no  exaction  that  she  did  not  prove  entirely 
able  to  satisfy.  The  amiable,  engaging  character  of 
Phoebe  Throssell  is  pictured  against  a  background  of 
humble  domestic  life,  in  an  old  English  town, — such  a 
town  as  Warwick,  or  Salisbury,  or  Devizes  must  have 


MAUDE    ADAMS  227 

been,  in  the  days  of  the  Regency, — and,  in  the  develop- 
ment of  the  story,  an  expert  stratagem,  which,  while  not 
intrinsically  novel,  is  deeply  effective,  was  artistically 
employed.  The  domestic  life  portrayed  is  that  of  two 
sisters,  Phoebe  and  Susan  Throssell,  who  dwell  in 
"Quality  Street," — demure,  staid,  highly  sensitive  dam- 
sels of  the  Jane  Austen  order, — decorous  in  manner, 
studiously  observant  of  convention,  prone  to  conceal  deep 
feeling  beneath  the  guise  of  formality.  Phoebe  secretly 
loves  a  young  military  officer,  and  the  stratagem  consists  in 
her  assumption  of  a  disguise  under  which  she  attracts  many 
admirers,  among  them  the  gallant  soldier,  just  returned 
from  the  Napoleonic  wars,  of  whom  she  is  enamoured, 
and  by  whom  she  is  beloved.  The  disguise  is  the  sud- 
den resumption, — under  an  impulse  partly  of  pique  and 
partly  of  profound  joy, — of  a  gay,  sparkling,  piquant 
personality,  now  soft  and  demure,  now  careless  and 
impetuous,  and  thus  altogether  potent  with  the  enchant- 
ing blandishments  of  youth  and  beauty.  Phoebe,  sorrow- 
ful in  the  absence  of  her  hero,  has  become  decorous  and 
staid:  his  return  and  his  somewhat  obtuse  raillery  arouse 
her  from  the  dulness  of  frowsy  decorum,  and  she  pres- 
ently appears,  at  a  military  ball,  in  the  character,  and 
under  the  name,  of  an  invented  relative, — her  coquettish 
niece, — and  so,  while  bewildering  and  mortifying  her 
suitor,  she  leads  him  to  speak  his  mind,  and  discovers 
that  she  has  long  possessed  his  love. 

The  effect  of  the  play  depends  on  the  startling  con- 


228  THE   WALLET    OF    TIME 

trast  between  Phoebe  in  the  guise  of  dashing,  brilliant, 
engaging  womanhood,  and  Phwbe  in  her  customary 
condition  of  concealed  ardor  and  outward  drab  placidity 
of  demeanor.  Miss  Adams  in  that  character, — revealed 
once  more  as  her  seemingly  ingenuous  self,  no  longer 
burdened  by  the  weight  of  emotions  which  her  nature 
could  not  feel  nor  her  art  express, — made  that  con- 
trast vivid,  emphatic,  and  sympathetic.  Whether  as 
the  patient,  mild,  rueful,  but  brave  little  school-teacher 
or  the  buoyant,  gay,  coquettish  ball-room  beauty, — 
sometimes  demure,  sometimes  mischievous,  now  pensive 
and  now  tantalizing,  now  impulsive  with  pouting  resent- 
ment, now  sweetly  wayward  and  pert,  and  now  reckless 
and  arch  in  the  perversity  of  a  rebellious  heart, — she 
presented  an  image  that  was  full  of  allurement  and  that 
completely  filled  the  dramatist's  apparent  ideal  of  his 
heroine.  By  a  Fanchette-like  burst  of  resentment  and 
revolt  against  the  injustice  of  fate  and  the  tyranny  of 
inexorable  circumstance  Miss  Adams, — with  hysterical 
vehemence  and  rapid  vociferation, — rose  as  near  to 
genuine  passion  as  her  nature  would  allow  her  to  rise. 
Some  execrable  verse,  by  Mr.  Barrie,  in  the  programme, 
directed  attention  to  roses  in  the  pathway  of  his  heroine, 
which  were  said  to  be  "her  fancies  walking  round,"  and 
stated  that  she  was  "gowned"  in  "sweet-smelling  laven- 
der." Miss  Adams,  however,  clothed  herself  in  more 
conventional  raiment  and  presented  a  quaint  and  pretty 


MAUDE    ADAMS  229 

picture.  Coming  in  a  period  when  many  stage  heroines 
were  in  poignant  distress,  Miss  Adams'  presentation  of 
Phoebe  Throsscll  was  a  puhlic  benefaction,  for  it  was 
a  relief  and  a  delight  to  see  somebody  around  whom 
the  sunshine  seemed  to  play  and  the  roses  bloom. 

"THE    PRETTY    SISTER    OF    JOSE\" 

On  November  10,  1903,  Miss  Adams  appeared  at 
the  Empire  Theatre,  New  York,  in  a  dreary  fabric  of 
dialogue  by  Mrs.  Frances  Hodgson  Burnett,  called 
"The  Pretty  Sister  of  Jose."  The  sister  is  a  Spanish 
girl  named  Pepita.  Pepita's  beauty,  revealed  on  an 
occasion  of  that  gentle  amusement  miscalled  a  bull-fight, 
captivates  a  matador  named  Sabastiano — distracting  his 
attention  from  an  oppugnant  bull  and  thus  precipitat- 
ing disaster.  The  matador  is  wounded  by  the  bull,  and 
in  his  consequent  illness  he  is  tended  by  Pepita,  and, 
after  some  vicissitudes,  he  wins  her  for  his  wife.  The 
bull  does  not  appear:  the  vicissitudes  constitute  the  play. 
The  interest  of  the  story  is  developed  very  slowly.  At 
the  outset  it  is  indicated  that  Pepita,  a  girl  from  the 
country,  just  arrived  in  Madrid,  to  dwell  with  her  affec- 
tionate brother,  has  unhappy  memories.  She  remembers 
that  her  mother  was  abused  by  her  father,  though  fondly 
devoted  to  him,  and  she  therefore  harbors  a  resentment 
against  men.  She  will  enjoy  existence  and  no  man 
shall  win  her  love.     Hearing  the  praises  of  the  famous 


230  THE   WALLET    OF    TIME 

matador,  and  becoming  acquainted  with  a  girl  who  loves 
him  and  is  dying  because  unloved  by  him  in  return, 
she  becomes  especially  infuriated  against  the  all-fas- 
cinating champion,  and  when  at  length  he  becomes  her 
wooer  she  repels  him  even  while  luring  him  by  her 
coquetry.  The  pique  seems  to  be  destitute  of  adequate 
motive,  and  it  is  pushed  much  beyond  the  limit  of  reason. 
The  dialogue  is  dense  with  verbiage — literary,  not  char- 
acteristic of  the  several  speakers,  and,  therefore,  not 
dramatic.  Almost  every  speaker  in  the  play  employs 
one  of  the  most  noxious  of  all  the  lazy  expedients  of 
literary  weakness.  "When  one  loves  then  one  suffers." 
"When  one  opens  his  eyes  then  one  sees";  "When  one 
thinks  then  one  has  a  headache": — and,  it  may  be  added, 
When  one  listens  to  chatter  like  that,  then  one  wishes 
that  a  dramatist  had  revised  the  text.  Even  the  lover, 
in  the  torrent  of  his  declaration,  had  something  to  say 
about  the  feeling  inspired  "when  one  meets  with  a  girl 
that  one  does  not  understand."  Mrs.  Burnett  writes 
books  and  all  her  persons  talk  as  if  they  also  were 
aspirants  for  the  distinction  of  three  volumes  in  Mudie's 
Library.  The  piece  "comes  to  Hecuba"  in  time,  but 
there  is  a  weary  waste  of  words  in  getting  there. 
Pepita  might  be  described  as  an  elaboration  of  Shake- 
speare's Phoebe,  in  "As  You  Like  It."  Put  into 
Spanish  raiment  and  framed  with  a  love-story,  that  is 
the  essential  character.  The  intention,  apparently,  was 
to  indicate   fluctuations   of  thought  and   feeling   in   the 


MAUDE    ADAMS  231 

mind  and  heart  of  a  romantic,  wilful  young  girl,  when 
agitated  by  the  soft  approaches  of  the  grand  passion. 
Pepita,  as  impersonated  by  Miss  Adams,  was  a  tenuous 
damsel,  of  peevish  aspect,  who  closed  her  teeth  and 
spoke  through  them,  producing,  at  times,  a  strange, 
nasal  sound,  as  of  a  sheep  bleating.  She  was  also, 
however,  a  girl  of  delicate,  winning  sensibility,  impulsive, 
wayward,  variable,  sometimes  piquant  and  perverse, 
sometimes  gentle  and  sincere,  and  she  looked  well  in 
Spanish  colors;  so  that  the  infatuation  of  the  matador 
was  justified.  Miss  Adams  denoted  exceedingly  well 
the  struggle  in  the  girl's  heart  to  maintain  a  haughty 
demeanor  while  longing  to  yield  to  the  impulse  of  love. 
She  likewise  danced  and  sang.  And  from  the  moment 
of  her  first  speech,  "Oh,  what  joy  to  be  here!"  down  to 
her  rapture  of  surrender,  she  held  the  sympathy  of  her 
audience. 

"PETER    PAN." 

Barrie's  fairy  play  called  "Peter  Pan"  is  an  amiable 
fabric  of  whim  and  fancy,  devised,  apparently,  for  the 
amusement  of  children.  No  higher  purpose  than  that 
is  discernible  in  it.  No  other  writers  have  handled 
fairies  or  fairy  fancies  as  Pope  handled  them,  in  "The 
Rape  of  the  Lock,"  or  as  Southey  handled  them,  in 
the  beautiful,  much  undervalued  poem  of  "The  Curse 
of  Kehama."  Barrie,  however,  handled  them  well 
enough  for  his  apparent  purpose  in  "Peter  Pan."  The 
play  is  flexible  in  construction,  fluent  in  style,  abundant 


232  THE   WALLET    OF    TIME 

in  ridiculous  incident,  and  diverting, — much  as  a  nimble 
kitten  is  when  sporting  with  a  ball  of  yarn. 


"By  sports  like  these  are  all  their  cares  beguiled; 
The  sports  of  children  satisfy  the  child. 


5> 


The  fantasy  sometimes  runs  into  puerility  and  becomes 
tedious.  The  fabric  is  immeasurably  inferior,  in  fancy 
and  satire,  to  Lewis  Carroll's  "Alice  in  Wonderland." 
The  wide  currency  it  obtained  had  the  effect  of  blotching 
the  newspapers,  all  over  the  country,  with  expressions  of 
sickly  sentimentality  and  rhapsodical  blather  about 
"kiddies,"  "grown-ups,"  "phantasies,"  etc.  "Peter 
Pan"  was,  however,  well  enough  in  its  way,  and  Miss 
Adams,  as  Peter,  gave  a  tolerable  performance,  in  a 
vein  of  grotesquerie,  pleasantry,  impulse,  and  vim, 
remotely  kindred  with  her  performance  of  Babbie,  but 
much  inferior  to  that  impersonation.  It  is  a  significant 
fact,  as  indicating  the  true  place  and  influence  of  Maude 
Adams  in  the  theatrical  movement  of  her  time,  that 
Peter  Pan  was  the  most  popular  of  her  achievements, 
and  that  Maggie  Wylie  was  the  high-water  mark  of  her 
dramatic   accomplishment. 

"THE    JESTERS." 

In  the  play  of  "The  Jesters," — adapted  by  John 
Raphael  from  a  French  play,  by  Miguel  Zamacois, 
called  "Les  Bouffons" — which  was  brought  out  in  New 
York  on  January  15,  1908,  Miss  Adams  found  another 


MAUDE    ADAMS  233 

part  which,  to  some  extent,  suited  her  personality  and 
enabled  her  to  exercise  her  special  charm.  That  piece 
is  a  delicate  fabric  of  romantic  fancy,  the  display  of 
an  episode  of  youth  and  love,  in  the  somewhat  grim 
environment  of  a  mediaeval  castle.  The  Wizard  of  the 
North  might  have  told  such  a  story.  The  fine  old  novel- 
ist G.  P.  R.  James  would  have  revelled  in  it.  All  the 
adjuncts  of  the  old-time  romance  are  present  or  are 
suggested, — the  frowning  bastion,  the  donjon-keep,  the 
feudal  lord,  with  more  rank  than  wealth;  the  bewitching 
daughter  of  the  house;  the  seneschal;  the  bragging 
trooper;  and  then  the  lover,  coming  in  his  homely  dis- 
guise, to  discomfit  all  competitors  and  triumphantly  bear 
away  the  beauteous  damsel.  In  substance  the  play  is 
simplicity  itself:  the  treatment,  investing  that  sim- 
plicity with  importance,  commends  it  equally  to  the 
imagination  and  the  heart. 

This  is  the  story:  Solange,  the  daughter,  aged  17,  of 
the  Baron  de  Mautpre,  pretends  to  be  depressed  and  ill, 
for  lack  of  congenial  companionship  and  want  of  occupa- 
tion suitable  to  her  age.  Through  the  counsel  and 
connivance  of  Oliver,  a  trusted  friend  and  servitor  of 
de  Mautpre,  two  youths,  Rene  de  Chancenac  and  Rob- 
ert de  Belfonte,  assume,  respectively,  the  names  of 
Chicot  and  Narcisse,  and  come  to  the  castle  of  de 
Mautpre,  as  jesters.  Both  are  attracted  by  the  youth 
and  beauty  of  Solange.  Both  endeavor  to  win  her  affec- 
tions.    The  one,  Narcisse,  is  self-assertive  and  grandil- 


234  THE   WALLET    OF    TIME 

oquent:  the  other,  Chicot,  who  pretends  to  be  a  hunch- 
back, is  modest  and  gentle.  Those  two  competitors  are 
shown  in  a  sequence  of  verbal  conflicts  in  the  endeavor 
to  win  the  love  of  Solange.  At  last  Chicot,  whom  the 
girl  believes  to  be  poor  and  lowly  and  whom  she  sees 
to  be  deformed,  wins  her  preference,  because  of  the 
beauty,  nobility,  and  loveliness  of  his  mind  and  soul. 
Then  his  disguise  is  penetrated;  he  is  discovered  to  be 
straight  and  handsome  as  well  as  noble,  and  a  happy 
future  is  indicated  for  Solange  and  her  chosen  mate. 
The  story  is,  in  effect,  a  fairy  tale. 

The  fact  that  Miss  Adams  has  chosen  to  appear, 
on  many  occasions,  in  male  semblance  has  always  been 
deplorable,  but  in  this  fabric  of  fancy  it  was  not  of  much 
importance.  The  authentic  attraction  of  the  actress 
consists  in  the  attribute  of  piquant,  sprightly  woman- 
hood. Her  performance  in  "The  Jesters"  revealed  that 
she  had  gained  in  authority  by  reason  of  experience  and 
years,  but  otherwise  that  there  was  little  change  from 
the  day  of  her  signal  success  as  Babbie.  Her  method 
of  acting  has  the  virtue  of  simplicity,  and  also  it  pre- 
sents the  radical  defect  of  obviousness:  it  shows  the 
wheels.  She  does  the  same  things  over  and  over  and  over 
again, — not  only  the  same  things  that  she  has  done  in 
other  plays,  but  in  every  play  the  same  thing  that  she  has 
done  a  few  minutes  before.  Her  gestures  are  often 
constricted  and  spasmodic,  and  she  injures  her  vocalism 
by  the  habit  of  speaking  with  her  lips  pursed  and  her 


MAUDE    ADAMS  235 

teeth  almost  closed,  so  that,  as  Lady  Teazle  says,  her 
words  "seem  to  slide  out  edgewise,  as  if  from  the 
aperture  of  a  poor's-box":  but  of  the  esteem  in  which 
Miss  Adams  has  long  been  held  by  a  numerous  public 
of  playgoers  there  can  be  no  doubt. 

"WHAT    EVERY   WOMAN    KNOWS." 

Barrie's  comedy  of  "What  Every  Woman  Knows" 
had  its  first  representation  in  America  at  the  Empire 
Theatre,  New  York,  on  December  23,  1908,  and  Miss 
Adams  gave  a  proficient,  serio-comic,  sometimes  pathetic 
performance,  representing,  in  a  distinctly  American 
manner,  the  peculiar  and  interesting  Scotch  girl  who 
is  the  heroine  of  that  ingenious  composition.  The 
piece  showed  itself  to  be  somewhat  more  a  play  and 
somewhat  less  a  "fantasy"  than  most  of  Barrie's  later 
productions.  The  dramatist  told  a  story  by  means  of 
action, — the  action  being  interpretative  of  the  dialogue, 
— and,  in  telling  the  story,  evolved  character,  sometimes 
much  exaggerated  for  comic  effect,  and  thus  touched  alike 
the  springs  of  laughter  and  of  tears.  The  fact  which 
every  woman  knows  is  the  fact  that  man,  in  the  order  of 
nature,  is  largely  dependent  on  woman,  and  that  with- 
out her  assistance  he  would  accomplish  little  if  any- 
thing,— that  he  must  be  "mothered"  and  encouraged. 
That  truth  is  illustrated  and  enforced  by  a  fanciful, 
humorous,  extravagant,  and  good-naturedly  satirical 
exposition  of  Scotch  persons  and  Scotch  domestic  life. 


23(5  THE   WALLET    OF    TIME 

Barrie's  method  of  stating  his  self-evident  proposition 
is  quizzical;  the  quizzical  attitude  of  observation  seems 
to  have  become  the  fixed,  inveterate  habit  of  his  mind. 
The  formula  is  blithely  stated  by  the  heroine:  "Woman 
was  not  made  out  of  Adam's  rib,  but  out  of  his  funny 
bone."  That  heroine,  Maggie  Wylie  (the  name  itself 
possesses  a  latent  significance),  was  a  plain  girl,  the 
sister  of  three  thrifty  Scotchmen,  Aleck,  David,  and 
James  Wylie, — all  resident  in  a  Scotch  town.  The 
)]Ti flics  were  possessed  of  a  library.  There  was  a  rail- 
way porter,  named  John  Shand,  who  had  "a  soul  above 
buttons"  and  who  wished  to  improve  his  mind  by  reading. 
With  that  purpose  in  view  he  surreptitiously  entered 
the  house  of  the  Wylies,  on  various  occasions,  in  order  to 
obtain  access  to  their  books.  At  last  he  was  captured 
as  a  burglar,  but  on  being  apprised  of  the  motive  of 
his  singular  conduct  his  captors  agreed  to  pardon  his 
burglarious  incursion  and  to  provide  for  his  education, 
if  he  would  agree  to  become, — after  an  interval  of 
several  years,  and  in  the  event  of  her  concurrence, — the 
husband  of  Maggie  Wylie.  To  that  condition  Shand 
assented,  and  in  due  time, — Maggie  coming  to  know 
him  and  to  love  him,  while  releasing  him  from  his 
promise, — the  marriage  occurred,  and  thereafter  Shand, 
continually  guided  and  aided  by  his  wise,  sweet,  sensible 
wife, — without  any  knowledge,  on  his  part,  of  her  influ- 
ence,— was  embarked  on  the  flood-tide  of  a  prosperous 
public  career.     Then,  as  sometimes  happens  with  clever 


MAUDE    ADAMS  237 

men,  his  head  was  turned  by  flattery,  his  vanity  got  the 
better  of  his  judgment,  and  he  became  infatuated  with 
a  sparkling,  worldly  woman,  by  name  Lady  Sybil 
Lazenby.  His  wife,  Maggie,  in  the  natural  course  of 
things,  perceived  her  husband's  weakness  and  folly,  and 
was  mortified  and  grieved.  She  followed,  however,  an 
unusual  and  unnatural  course, — providing  that  Shand 
should  be  thrown  into  the  society  of  his  shallow  charmer, 
in  the  comparative  seclusion  of  a  country  cottage;  where, 
presently,  common  sense  surpervening  on  irrational 
sentiment,  the  lover  and  the  lady  found  themselves 
mutually  bored,  so  that  Shand  was  glad  to  return  to  his 
Maggie  and  humbly  to  recognize  and  avouch  the  infinite 
obligation  that  rests  on  any  man  who  is  so  fortunate 
as  to  possess  the  love  of  a  good  woman.  There  are 
many  details  in  the  play,  all  deftly,  if  a  little  wildly, 
devised,  and  all  concentrated  to  bear  on  the  illustration 
of  that  central  truth.  The  spirit  is  pure,  the  touch  is 
light,  the  satire  is  playful,  the  colloquy  is  neat  and  fluent ; 
the  characterization,  if  sometimes  violent,  is  distinct; 
the  sequence  of  situations  is  cumulative, — notwithstand- 
ing that  the  First  Act,  with  its  audacity  of  fancy,  is 
more  brilliantly  contrived  and  more  humorously  written 
than  either  of  the  three  others, — and  the  method  of 
impartment  of  meaning  is,  rightly,  that  of  suggestion, 
not  that  of  didacticism. 

The  dramatists  who  have  done  the  greatest  and  most 
enduring   service   to   the   drama   in   the    present   period 


238  THE   WALLET    OF    TIME 

are  William  S.  Gilbert,  Henry  Arthur  Jones,  and 
Augustus  Thomas,  all  of  whom  have  evinced,  besides 
other  faculties,  passion  and  power.  Barrie  has  enriched 
dramatic  literature  with  delicious  creations  of  whimsical 
fancy  and  gentle  humor,  which  could  not  be  too  much 
commended,  and  for  which  he  merits  the  gratitude  of 
every  lover  of  the  Stage.  Miss  Adams  entered  thor- 
oughly into  the  spirit  of  the  part  of  Maggie  Wylie, — 
the  spirit  which  combines  goodness,  tenderness,  mag- 
nanimity, pride,  motherhood,  and  pity  with  some  little 
dash  of  tartness, — and  gave  a  performance  which  needed 
only  flexibility  and  more  essential  Scotch  character 
to  make  it  as  entirely  enjoyable  as  it  was  artistically 
consistent.  At  the  moment  when  Maggie  destroys 
Shand's  written  promise  of  marriage  and  again  at  the 
moment  when  she  gazes  on  the  beauty  who  has 
bewitched  her  husband,  Miss  Adams  attained  to 
the  loftiest  height  she  has  reached,  in  the  expression  of 
feeling.  The  only  essentially  Scotch  performance  was 
that  of  David  Wylie  by  Mr.  David  Torrence — correct 
and  admirable  in  every  particular.  The  part  of  Shand 
is  technically  so  good  (though  no  man  could  ever  be 
quite  so  insensate  under  the  circumstances  shown)  that 
it  would  carry  any  actor,  and  it  carried  Mr.  Richard 
Bennett.  He  was  not  in  the  least  a  Scotchman,  but 
he  gave  a  consistent,  sustained,  effective  performance. 


VII. 

BLANCHE    BATES. 

1872—19—. 

Experience  has  taught,  as  one  of  the  laws  of  Moral 
Nature,  that  from  persons  to  whom  much  has  been  given 
of  intellectual  faculty  and  alluring  potency  much  will 
be  expected.  The  richly  endowed  mind  that  trifles  with 
its  opulence,  neglecting  to  fulfil  itself  and  perform  its 
duty,  will  eventually  incur  the  retribution  of  disenchant- 
ment, unavailing  sorrow,  and  immedicable  regret.  The 
penalty  is  not  imposed  from  without:  it  does  not  proceed 
from  the  opinion  of  other  persons, — a  minor  influence, 
and  in  the  moral  discipline  of  the  soul  completely 
insignificant:  it  comes  from  within.  In  the  conduct  of 
life,  accordingly,  those  persons  are  wise  who  aim  high, 
and  who,  at  any  sacrifice  of  personal  comfort  and  at 
implacable  repudiation  of  base  expediency,  cleave  to  the 
finest  ideals  that  they  are  able  to  form.  That  thought 
is  irresistibly  brought  to  mind  by  consideration  of  the 
professional  procedure  of  that  exceptional  and  remark- 
able actress  Blanche  Bates,  a  woman  to  whom  Nature 
has  been  prodigal  of  some  of  her  richest  gifts. 

Miss  Bates  was  born  in  Portland,  Oregon,  on  August 

239 


240  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

25,  1872.  Her  father,  F.  M.  Bates,  and  her  mother 
were  actors  of  respectable  talent,  trained  in  the  old 
school.  Her  father  was  manager  of  the  Oro  Fino 
Theatre,  in  Portland,  at  the  time  of  her  birth.  She 
was  removed  to  San  Francisco  in  early  childhood,  and 
there  she  received  a  good  education.  Her  parents  did 
not  destine  her  for  the  Stage.  In  1890  she  was  mar- 
ried to  Lieutenant  Milton  F.  Davis,  U.  S.  A.,  but 
the  marriage  proving  unhappy  the  husband  and  wife 
soon  parted.  She  made  her  first  theatrical  appearance 
at  Stockwell's  Theatre  (afterward  the  Columbia),  San 
Francisco,  in  1894,  acting  in  "This  Picture  and 
That,"  on  the  occasion  of  a  benefit  performance 
for  L.  R.  Stockwell.  Soon  afterward  she  obtained 
employment  to  play  minor  parts  in  a  stock  company 
managed  by  Mr.  T.  Daniel  Frawley.  Later  she  joined 
the  company  of  Messrs.  Giffin  and  Neill,  playing  in 
Denver  and  other  Western  cities.  That  company  was 
bought  by  Mr.  Frawley,  and  under  his  management 
Miss  Bates  made  her  first  decided  hit,  as  Mrs.  Hillary, 
in  D.  D.  Lloyd's  play  of  "The  Senator,"  in  1895.  She 
then  acted  in  the  West  for  about  three  years,  in  a  variety 
of  parts,  many  of  her  performances  being  given  in 
association  with  that  fine  actor  the  late  Frank  Worthing, 
whose  counsel  and  assistance  did  much  to  develop,  train, 
and  refine  her  exceptional  dramatic  aptitude.  In  a 
whole-hearted  tribute  to  that  actor,  soon  after  his 
lamented  death,  Miss  Bates,  with  a  frank  generosity  as 


7 


■ 


90 


Front  a  Photograph. 


In  the  Collection  of  the  Author. 
BLANCHE    BATES. 


BLANCHE    BATES  241 

admirable   as    it    is    rare    among    artists    of    any    class, 
wrote : 

"It  is  not  only  as  for  many  years  a  professional  associate, 
comrade,  and  friend  that  I  seek  for  words  to  recognize  the  Art 
of  Frank  Worthing.  It  is  as  the  grateful  disciple  to  whom, 
out  of  the  wealth  of  his  own  exquisite  artistic  knowledge,  he 
so  freely  gave  instruction, — and  gave  it  so  kindly  and  gently 
as  to  make  its  acceptance  seem  to  be  almost  a  favor  to  him. 
His  knowledge  of  his  art  was  wonderful ;  it  was  founded  on  the 
inborn  instinct  for  acting,  and  increased  by  the  close  association 
in  the  formative  years  with  those  past  masters,  Irving  and 
Wyndham. 

"Great  as  were  the  love  and  admiration  and  understanding 
given  to  Frank  Worthing  by  the  theatregoers  of  America  and 
England, — and  to  that  greatness  in  America  I  can  testify  from 
personal  observation,  for  I  acted  with  him  in  every  State  of  the 
Union  and  in  far  away  Hawaii — entire  recognition  and  appre- 
ciation of  his  worth  as  a  technician  has  never,  in  my  opinon, 
been  accorded  to  him.  We've  'enjoyed  his  work';  an  enviable 
business  position  had  been  his  for  years ;  the  audience,  the  great 
paying  audience  on  which  the  existence  of  the  theatre  depends, 
recognized  and  admired  and  applauded  the  results  of  his  work. 
But  his  true  value  as  a  teacher, — as  a  leader  in  his  profession, — 
has  never  been  brought  home  to  any  but  those  who  have  worked 
with  him,  whose  art  is  founded  on  his.  And  it  is  with  loving 
gratitude  that  I  write  myself  down  the  makings  of  his  hands. 
What  little  skill  I  may  have  in  my  chosen  work,  whatever  knowl- 
edge of  the  expression  of  shades  of  meaning,  of  time,  of  move- 
ment, of  'color,'  are  owing  to  my  eight  years  of  close  association, 
of  study,  and  of  work  with  him,  and  to  the  fifteen  years  of  his 
sympathetic  understanding  and  affectionate  encouragement. 

"Frank  Worthing  was  one  of  the  foremost  light  comedians 
of  his  time ;  yet  exquisite  as  his  work  was  in  such  comedy,  his 


242  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

wonderful  knowledge  and  art  were  shown  with  equal  skill  in  his 
able  differentiation  between  any  two  straight  leading  parts, — 
so  that  each  stood  out  as  a  distinct  character,  although  cast  by 
the  playwright  in  the  same  conventional  mould.  The  man  who 
could  make  equally  convincing  and  artistic  Charles  Surface  and 
Ira  Beasley,  in  Bret  Harte's  'Sue,'  or  the  dissipated  stock 
gambler  and  embezzler  of  'The  Climbers,'  and  the  nervous  man 
in  'All  the  Comforts  of  Home,'  was  possessed  of  the  art  and 
the  instinct  for  delineation  in  a  degree  given  to  few. 

"There  is  one  phase  of  Frank  Worthing's  ability  not  generally 
known :  he  could  write  clearly,  easily,  dramatically.  With  the 
prodigality  of  youth,  this  gift  was  poured  out  in  anonymous 
one-act  plays  for  benefits ;  for  the  struggling  vaudevillian ;  for 
'practice' — practice  of  which  he  threw  away  the  fruits,  for, 
although  he  wrote  at  least  one  successful  play,  I  think  he  kept 
no  manuscripts  or  records  of  them. 

"About  the  personality  of  the  man,  the  frankness  of  the  com- 
rade, the  loyalty  of  the  friend,  I  dare  not  trust  myself  to  write. 
That  is  a  memory  treasured  in  the  hearts  of  those  who  loved 
him — and  through  the  tears  of  honest  affection,  admiration, 
loyalty,  and  regret,  I  am  proud  to  subscribe  myself  gratefully 
his,  in  remembrance." 

In  the  spring  of  1898  Miss  Bates  obtained  an  engage- 
ment in  the  dramatic  company  of  Augustin  Daly,  and 
she  soon  revealed  herself  as  an  actress  of  superior,  varied, 
and  auspicious  powers,  exceptional  professional  resource, 
and  rare  personal  charm.  During  the  summer  and  fall 
of  1898  she  acted  in  stock  companies  in  Chicago  and  the 
West.  She  then  returned  to  Daly's  company,  in  New 
York,  but  did  not  long  remain  there.  On  February  9, 
1899,   she  acted   the   Countess  Mirtza,   in   "The   Great 


BLANCHE    BATES  243 

Ruby,"  and  made  a  decisive  success.  She  proved  a  dis- 
turbing element  in  Daly's  company,  because  strongly 
individual  and  formidable  in  character,  brilliant  in 
beauty,  and  piquantly  original  in  style.  After  leaving 
that  company,  although  she  immediately  obtained  an 
engagement  to  act  Milady,  with  James  O'Neill,  in  "The 
Three  Guardsmen,"  she  experienced  some  vicissitudes  of 
fortune,  but  though  she  was  sometimes  obliged  to  revert 
to  the  stock  she  did  not  lapse  into  obscurity.  She  was, 
however,  for  some  time  constrained  to  wear  the  fetter, 
but  she  made  her  way  by  her  strength,  and  the  hour 
came  when,  by  a  distinct  popular  success,  she  effected 
her  liberation.  It  is  the  nature  of  a  strong  character, 
whatever  may  be  the  confronting  obstacles,  steadfastly 
to  pursue  its  inherently  propulsive  purpose.  Her  char- 
acter was  strong  and  aspirant,  it  had  not  been  saddened, 
and  by  the  compelling  enticement  of  it,  and  by  her 
ability,  persistence,  and  achievement,  she  was  soon  in 
a  position  to  command.  The  notable  parts  in  which  she 
has  conspicuously  appeared,  in  various  professional  asso- 
ciations, after  Countess  Mirtza  and  Milady,  are  Hannah 
Jacobs,  in  "The  Children  of  the  Ghetto";  Cora, 
in  "Naughty  Anthony";  Cho-Cho-San,  in  "Madame 
Butterfly";  Cigarette,  in  "Under  Two  Flags";  Yo-San, 
in  "The  Darling  of  the  Gods"  (her  most  symmetrical 
performance)  ;  The  Girl,  in  "The  Girl  of  the  Golden 
West,"  and  Anna  Granger,  in  "Fighting  Hope." 
Neither  of  them,  nor  all  of  them  combined,  could  wholly; 


244  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

arouse  the  nature  which,  at  moments,  she  indicated  in 
her  acting  of  them,  or  could  completely  liberate  all  the 
feeling  and  governing  control  of  feeling  which,  at  those 
moments,  she  suggested  as  within  her  capability;  and 
it  is  little  less  than  wonderful  that,  with  such  material, 
she  was  able  to  accomplish  so  much. 

Blanche  Bates  might  be  a  great  actress,  either  in 
Comedy  or  Tragedy,  or  both:  potentially,  by  reason 
of  what  she  is,  and  of  the  simplicity,  truth,  and  finish 
of  her  artistic  method,  she  is  a  great  actress.  There 
is  no  woman  visible  on  the  American  Stage  to-day 
who  rivals  her  in  combined  brilliancy  and  power. 
She  could  act  Shakespeare's  Beatrice,  and  she  could, 
with  study,  act  his  Cleopatra.  She  possesses  the  tem- 
perament, the  person,  and  the  kindred  expressive  facul- 
ties for  all  such  characters  as  are  typified  by  Zenobia, 
Hypatia,  S  emir  amis,  Queen  Katharine,  and  Mary 
Stuart.  Her  range  of  expression  would  admit  of  her 
successful  acting  in  Margaret  of  Navarre,  at  one 
extreme,  and  Lady  Jane  Grey,  at  the  other.  All  those 
parts  are  mentioned  not  as  parts  necessarily  desirable 
to  be  shown,  but  as  representative,  indicative  types.  No 
one  wishes  to  induct  Miss  Bates,  or  any  other  performer, 
into  a  classical  dramatic  cemetery.  The  point  is  that, 
at  a  time  when  the  Stage  stands  in  urgent  need  of  intel- 
lectual control,  that  actress,  greatly  gifted  and  gra- 
ciously endowed,  had  attained  a  position  of  leadership, 
and,  in  a  moment, — whether  from  caprice,  or  weariness, 


BLANCHE    BATES  245 

or  feminine  amiability,  or  acquisitiveness,  or  bad  judg- 
ment, or  cynical  compliance  with  the  vacuous  social 
taste  and  sordid  commercial  spirit  of  the  day, — tossed  it 
aside,  as  if  it  were  a  withered  flower.  It  would  be 
foolish  to  deny  to  Blanche  Bates  the  attribute  of  intel- 
lectual character,  but  the  conclusion  is  inevitable,  when 
contemplating  the  course  she  has  chosen  to  take,  that 
her  professional  ambition  has  not  been  directed  by  intel- 
lectual purpose,  or  rather  that  she  has  weakly  per- 
mitted her  purpose  to  be  thwarted.  Ample  material 
gain  has  rewarded  her  exertions,  but  her  material  suc- 
cess has  involved  a  considerable  sacrifice.  She  is  an 
actress  who  might  have  rivalled  the  achievement  and 
renown  of  either  Mary  Anderson  or  Ada  Rehan,  and 
she  might  have  done  so  with  monetary  gain — popularly 
considered  the  true  and  only  certificate  of  success.  Dur- 
ing the  two  years  1910  to  1912  Miss  Bates  has  devoted 
her  fine  talents  to  a  farce  called  "Nobody's  Widow,"  one 
of  the  silliest  conglomerations  of  twaddle  and  indelicacy 
with  which  the  trash-ridden  Stage  of  America  has  been 
encumbered, — presenting  in  that  employment  a  radiant 
image  of  female  loveliness  and  a  melancholy  spectacle  of 
talent  perverted  and  opportunity  thrown  away. 

The  central  idea  of  that  farce  (the  work  of  Mr.  Avery 
Hop  wood)  is  denial  of  an  established  relationship  under 
circumstances  which  might  cause  absurd  perplexities  and 
ridiculous  consequences, — such,  in  general  character,  as 
ensue   when   Charles  Courtly,   in   "London   Assurance," 


24G  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

on  being  introduced  to  his  father,  Sir  Harcourt,  blandly 
greets  him  as  a  new  acquaintance.  The  chief  female 
character,  Romano,,  acted  by  Miss  Bates,  has,  in  Europe, 
met  and  married  a  "Mr.  Clayton/'  who,  actually,  is  an 
English  nobleman,  the  Duke  of  31  or  eland;  but  having, 
on  their  wedding-day,  found  him  in  the  embrace  of  a 
mistress,  Hoxana  has  repudiated  and  left  him, — pri- 
vately instituting  proceedings  for  divorce,  and  presently 
apprising  her  friends  in  America  that  her  husband,  of 
whom  they  have  heard,  but  only  by  his  assumed  name  of 
Clayton,  is  dead,  and  that  she,  accordingly,  is  a  widow. 
Later  she  visits  one  of  those  friends,  at  Palm  Beach, 
Florida,  and  there  she  is,  by  chance,  confronted  by  her 
husband,  then  a  visitor  to  the  same  hostess,  but  bearing 
his  right  name.  Roocana's  husband  endeavors  to  rein- 
state himself  in  her  affections,  but,  persistently  and  with 
alternate  pleasantry  and  sarcasm,  he  is  treated  by  her 
as  an  accidental  acquaintance.  Roxana  assures  him 
that,  as  "Mr.  Clayton,"  he  is  "dead";  that  she  has  never 
before  seen  him;  that,  to  her,  he  is,  as  the  Duke  of 
Moreland,  nobody;  that  she  is  a  widow.  That  attitude 
she  maintains  until  apprised  of  her  divorce,  when  she 
becomes  conscious  of  a  sudden  access  of  tenderness  for 
him;  and,  eventually, — though  not  until  after  various 
trips  and  stumbles  on  the  track  of  reconciliation, — she 
first  allows  herself  to  be  again  married  to  him,  and  then 
allows  herself  to  be  convinced  of  his  honest  intentions 
and  the  sincerity  of  his  love. 


BLANCHE    BATES  247 

That  is  the  general  outline  of  the  piece,  and,  momen- 
tarily, it  seems  the  harbinger  of  genuine  if  preposterous 
fun.  An  expert  dramatist,  adhering  to  one  medium  of 
expression,  would,  and  easily  could,  have  worked  out  the 
process  of  reconciliation  between  the  wife  and  husband 
through  a  series  of,  at  least  at  the  moment,  seemingly 
rational  and  certainly  comical  complexities,  and  thus 
made  a  good  and  inoffensive  farce.  The  fabricator  of 
"Nobody's  Widow,"  while  making  an  auspicious  start 
and  supplying  a  few  passages  of  colloquy  which  now  and 
then  show  a  glint  of  wit,  piled  silliness  of  situation, 
clumsiness  of  construction,  paltriness  of  incident  and 
"business,"  and  steadily  accumulative  coarseness,  verbal 
or  suggested,  upon  flimsiness  of  character  and  insignifi- 
cance of  plot,  till  his  structure  of  crude  nonsense  became 
a  veritable  monument  of  inanity  and  indelicacy. 

A  farce  is  well  enough,  in  its  way  and  in  its  place, 
and  a  good  farce  well  acted  gives  pleasure  and  merits 
praise.  But  such  an  actress  as  Blanche  Bates,  in  the 
prime  of  life,  in  the  plenitude  of  her  powers,  and  after 
a  conspicuous  career  of  thirteen  years,  largely  on  the 
metropolitan  stage,  should  not  be  acting  in  farce, 
— and  in  wretchedly  bad  farce.  Such  a  manager  as 
David  Belasco, — to  whom  the  public  has  a  right  to 
look  for  enterprise  worthy  of  his  high  artistic  reputation 
and  vast  influence, — should  not  place  a  paltry  fabric 
upon  the  stage  with  a  care  and  lavish  expenditure  suit- 


248  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

able  to  the  finest  of  drama.  It  does  not  signify  that 
the  acting  of  Miss  Bates  in  that  contemptible  piece  was 
good.  How  could  her  acting,  in  a  perfectly  easy  farce 
part,  be  otherwise  than  good — she  being  what  she  is,  and 
possessing  the  experience  that  she  possesses?  She  had 
only  to  be  gay  and  free  in  demeanor;  to  be  cool,  quick, 
tantalizing,  and  once  or  twice  insolent  and  vehement; 
to  meet  palpable  subterfuge  with  demure  cajolery,  and 
repel  brazen  impudence  with  nonchalant  scorn;  and — 
which  is  not  a  pleasing  memory — to  reveal,  in  the  closing 
passage,  which  was  insidiously  devised  for  an  impart- 
ment  of  voluptuous  suggestion,  those  emotions,  eminently 
natural  and  in  themselves  innocent  and  right,  which 
modest,  self-respecting  womanhood,  with  decent  reti- 
cence, naturally  shields  beneath  impenetrable  reserve  and 
privacy.  An  actress  who  could  readily  impersonate  such 
a  part  as  Violantc,  in  "The  Wonder,"  and  express  in  it 
all  the  spirit  of  coquetry  of  which  her  nature  is  capable, 
could  not  fail  to  be  much  more  than  equal  to  the  puny 
requirements  of  such  a  part  as  Roxana.  To  record  the 
lapse  of  Blanche  Bates  into  such  stuff  as  "Nobody's 
Widow"  is  only  to  record  wasted  opportunity  and  dis- 
appointed expectation. 

The  earlier  performances  of  this  fine  actress,  rep- 
resentative of  her  true  nature  and  her  admirable  artistic 
achievement,  should  be  commemorated — for  they  are  well 
remembered  and  they  will  not  soon  be  forgotten. 


BLANCHE    BATES  249 

"UNDER    TWO   FLAGS." 

A  drama  based  on  Ouida's  well-known  novel,  "Under 
Two  Flags," — being  one  of  several  that  have  been 
deduced  from  the  same  source, — was  presented  at  the 
Garden  Theatre  on  February  5,  1901,  under  the  super- 
vision of  David  Belasco,  and  Miss  Bates  acted  the 
heroine  of  it,  Cigarette.  The  story  of  that  ardent,  pict- 
uresque, adventurous  girl  is  a  story  of  amatory  infatua- 
tion, brave  exploits,  and  pathetic  self-sacrifice,  under 
romantic  circumstances.  The  representative  of  Cigarette 
must  be  handsome,  passionate,  expeditious,  magnani- 
mous, resolute,  full  of  resource,  sparkling  with  energy, 
potent  in  fiery  conflicts  of  feeling,  and,  above  all,  capable 
of  covering  grief  with  a  smile.  That  is  the  essence  of 
the  character.  Blanche  Bates,  possessing  rare  personal 
distinction  and  a  temperament  equally  attuned  to  the 
extreme  moods  of  mirth  and  grief,  was  easily  proficient 
in  the  assumption  of  that  personality  and  in  the  pic- 
torial and  effective  expression  of  it.  Without  the  pres- 
ence of  that  actress  the  play  would  have  passed  as  a 
populous,  tumultuous  stage  pageant — a  spectacle  of 
Moorish  scenery  and  military  bustle:  animated  by  her 
power,  sensibility,  and  spirited,  various,  and  incessant 
action,  it  was  lifted  to  dramatic  importance. 

The  employment  of  Cigarette  is  the  salvation  from 
various  dangers  of  a  man  whom  she  loves  and  whose 
love  is  bestowed  on  another  woman,  and  her  diligence 


250  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

in  that  employment  is  attended  by  risk  and  rewarded 
by  ruin.  Many  persons  appear  to  think  that  it  is  beatific 
to  be  loved  by  other  persons  and  grievous  not  to  be 
loved,  and,  accordingly,  love-tales  exemplary  of  the  joy, 
on  the  one  hand,  and  the  sorrow,  on  the  other,  that  are 
sequent  from  those  antipodal  conditions  of  experience 
are  perennially  popular.  Pygmalion  worships  a  stone; 
Titania  caresses  the  ears  of  an  ass,  and  the  populace  is 
thrilled.  Cigarette's  passion  for  Bertie  Cecil  is  of  the 
old,  familiar  kind,  and,  the  scene  being  Algeria,  her 
adventures  are,  theatrically,  shown  across  a  background 
of  singular  beauty, — for  that  country  is  remarkable  for 
flowers,  cedar  forests,  Oriental  palms,  Roman  remains, 
stony  deserts  contrasted  with  smiling  villages,  and  lux- 
uriant gardens  not  distant  from  mountains  covered  with 
snow. 

Taste,  thought,  ingenuity,  and  sedulous  care  were 
expended  on  the  pageant  by  Belasco,  and  the  result 
was  a  magnificent  spectacle, — one  of  the  richest  and 
most  impressive  ever  seen  on  our  Stage.  Had  it  been 
brought  here  by  Henry  Irving  or  Herbert  Beerbohm- 
Tree,  it  would  have  been  hailed  as  a  transcendent 
exploit  in  stage  craft.  Every  scene  was  -a  picture, 
every  picture  was  harmonious  with  the  phase  of  the 
story  to  be  illustrated,  and  in  the  transitions  from  the 
luxurious  villa,  with  its  prospect  of  the  tranquil  ocean 
faintly  rippling  beneath  the  moon,  to  the  desolate,  rocky, 
weird,  and  ominous  mountain  gorge  a  climax  of  solemn 


BLANCHE    BATES  251 

grandeur  seemed  to  take  shape,  color,  and  charm,  slowly 
rising  out  of  a  dream  of  romantic  beauty.  The  drift 
of  whirling  mist  over  the  darkening  waves  of  sand  on 
the  bleak  seacoast  would  have  seemed  the  most  con- 
summate of  illusions,  had  it  not  been  excelled  by  the 
blinding  terrors  of  a  mountain  tempest.  Those  effects 
were  wrought  by  simple  means,  but  they  were  not  less 
splendid  because  of  the  simplicity  of  their  management. 
The  dramatic  victory  was  not  won,  however,  by 
either  the  pageantry  or  the  play.  "Under  Two  Flags" 
is  hackneyed  in  expedients,  abrupt  in  movement,  drastic 
in  method,  coarse  in  character,  shady  in  morals,  florid 
in  style,  and  the  version  of  it  used  by  Belasco  was  made 
silljT,  in  some  of  the  colloquies,  by  the  infusion  of  con- 
temporary slang  and  reference.  The  listener  heard  of 
"rot"  and  also  of  "the  Klondike," — unknown  in  the 
period  of  the  story.  But  the  old  novel  had  been  made 
to  yield  telling  situations,  and  the  strong  and  splendid 
acting  of  Miss  Bates  vitalized  them  and  brilliantly 
animated  the  whole  structure.  The  revelation  of  jeal- 
ousy, working  in  an  unsophisticated,  half-savage  nature, 
the  elemental  passion  expressed  in  the  fantastic  dance, 
the  prayer  of  the  breaking  heart  for  her  lover's  fidelity, 
the  supplication  for  his  pardon,  the  agony  when 
repulsed,  the  ecstasy  when  triumphant,  the  tremendous 
conflict  of  emotions  in  the  wild  ride  for  rescue — they 
were  all  displayed  with  more  of  human  nature  and 
more  of  a  competent  artist's  power  to  control  feelings 


252  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

and  to  shape  the  effect  of  situation  than  had  been  seen 
on  our  Stage  for  many  a  long  day. 

"THE    DARLING    OF    THE    GODS." 

The  drama  called  "The  Darling  of  the  Gods,"  by 
David  Belasco  and  John  Luther  Long,  was  presented 
in  New  York  for  the  first  time  on  December  3,  1902, 
and  since  then  it  has  been  acted  many  times,  in  many 
places, — always  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  community, 
always  with  success.  It  is  an  excellent  play,  a  unique 
fabric  of  fancy,  wildly  romantic,  rich  and  strange  with 
unusual  characters,  lively  with  incident,  occasionally 
mystical  with  implication  of  Japanese  beliefs  and  cus- 
toms, opulent  with  an  Oriental  splendor  of  atmosphere 
and  detail, — like  that  of  Beckford's  romance  of 
"Vathek," — fragrant  with  sweetness, — like  Moore's 
"Lalla  Iiookh," — busy  with  action,  effective  by  reason 
of  situation,  and  communicative  of  a  love  stoiy  of 
enchaining  interest  and  melancholy  beauty. 

The  story  of  Yo-San,  who  is  designated  "the  darling 
of  the  gods,"  separated  from  all  adjuncts  and  acces- 
sories, is  simple.  She  is  a  princess  in  Japan,  betrothed 
to  a  Japanese  courtier  whom  she  does  not  wish  to  wed. 
She  has  stipulated,  as  a  preliminary  condition  of  their 
marriage,  that  the  courtier  must  prove  his  valor  by 
capturing  a  certain  formidable  outlaw,  Prince  Kara, 
who,  on  being  captured,  will  be  put  to  death.  She 
has  been  saved  from  fatal  dishonor  through  the  expe- 


BLANCHE    BATES  253 

ditious  courage  and  promptitude  of  that  outlaw 
(unrecognized  by  her  as  such),  and  on  seeing  each  other 
they  become  lovers.  She  conceals  him  in  her  dwelling, 
when,  wounded  and  almost  dying,  he  has  made  his  way 
through  a  cordon  of  enemies,  and  for  many  days  she 
tends  him,  till  his  wounds  are  healed,  and  then,  for 
a  time,  those  lovers  are  happy,  in  their  secret  love. 
She  is,  however,  compromised  by  this  indiscretion,  and 
when  presently  her  father,  Prince  Saigon,  discovers 
her  secret, — and,  as  he  thinks,  her  dishonor, — she  is 
declared  an  outcast,  and  her  lover  is  doomed  to  torture 
and  death.  She  then  learns  that  she  can  insure  that 
lover's  pardon  and  liberation  by  betraying  the  hiding- 
place  of  his  outlaw  followers,  and,  in  desperate  agony, 
she  betrays  them:  but  she  gains  nothing  by  that  action 
except  an  access  of  misery.  Prince  Kara,  having,  with 
a  few  of  his  outlawed  followers,  fought  his  way  through 
the  lines  of  his  enemies,  and  discovered  that  the  secret 
of  the  hiding-place,  confided  by  him  to  Yo-San,  has  been 
by  her  revealed,  commits  suicide,  in  the  honorable  Japa- 
nese manner,  and  she  is  left  alone,  with  only  his  forgive- 
ness as  a  comfort,  and  with  the  hope  that, — after  a  thou- 
sand years  of  loneliness  and  grief,  in  the  underworld  of 
shadows, — she  will  be  again  united  with  him  in  the 
eternal  happiness  of  heaven.  The  play  shows  Yo-San 
as  an  innocent,  confiding,  pathetic  figure,  amid  stormy 
vicissitudes  and  afflicting  trials,  and  leaves  her,  at  the 
last,  redeemed  and  transfigured,  on  the  verge  of  Para- 


254,  THE   WALLET    OF    TIME 

dise,  where  Kara  stretches  out  his  arms  to  embrace  her, 
and  where  there  is  neither  trouble,  nor  parting,  nor  sor- 
row any  more. 

The  experience  of  the  Japanese  girl  is  the  old  ordeal, 
over  again,  of  woman's  sacrifice  and  anguish,  when 
giving  all  for  love.  Something  of  Shakespeare's  Juliet 
is  in  that  heroine,  something  of  Goethe's  Margaret, 
something  of  the  many  passionate,  wayward,  mourn- 
fully beautiful  ideals  of  woman's  sacrifice  that  are 
immortal  in  story  and  song.  She  is  a  loving  and  sor- 
rowing woman,  true,  tender,  faithful  forever,  and 
celestial  alike  in  her  love  and  her  grief.  The  character 
of  Yo-San  combines  some  of  the  finest  components  of 
womanhood  and  exemplifies  virtues  such  as,  indeed, 
redeem  the  frailty  of  human  nature — purity  of  heart 
and  life,  true  love,  endurance,  heroism  of  conduct,  and 
devoted  integrity  of  spiritual  faith.  Blanche  Bates 
gained  the  greatest  success  of  her  professional  career 
by  her  impersonation  of  Yo-San.  She  was  an  entirely 
lovely  image  of  ardent,  innocent,  ingenuous,  noble 
womanhood — such  an  image  as  irresistibly  allured  by  the 
charm  of  blended  physical  and  spiritual  beauty, 
bewitched  by  piquant  simplicity,  thrilled  the  imagina- 
tion by  an  impartment  of  passionate  vitality,  and  by  its 
exemplification  of  eternal  constancy  in  love, — the 
immortal  fidelity  of  the  spirit, — captured  the  heart. 
Her  facility  of  action  and  fluency  of  expression  were 
continuously  spontaneous,  and  she  was   delightful  both 


BLANCHE    BATES  255 

to  see  and  to  hear.  Such  an  achievement  in  the  dra- 
matic art  vindicates  the  beneficent  utility  of  the  Theatre, 
because  it  cheers  and  ennobles,  and  thus  practically  helps 
society,  through  the  ministration  of  beauty.  This  is  a 
hard  world.  Almost  everybody  in  it  struggles  beneath 
burdens  of  care  and  sorrow.  Multitudes  of  human 
beings  dwell  in  trouble  and  suffering.  An  imperative 
need  of  our  race  is  the  strength  of  patience  and  the 
light  of  hope.  Dramatic  art,  or  any  art,  which  satisfies 
that  need,  or  even  remotely  helps  to  satisfy  it,  is  a  bless- 
ing.    The  rest  is  little,  if  at  all,  better  than  a  curse. 

The  acting  of  Blanche  Bates,  which,  from  the  first 
of  her  performances  on  the  New  York  Stage,  had  shown 
a  charming  wildness  and  freedom,  was,  in  Yo-San, 
more  unconventional  than  ever.  Her  appearance  was 
beautiful,  her  action  graceful,  alert,  vigorous,  and  free 
from  all  restraint  of  self-consciousness  and  finical 
prudery.  There  was  no  ostentation  in  it,  no  parade, 
no  assumption  of  the  moral  crank, — such  as,  at  one 
time,  there  had  been  reason  to  apprehend  through 
her  temporary  association  with  some  of  the  crank- 
dramas, — no  pulpiteer  impairment  of  stuffy  didacticism. 
She  came  in  a  dreary  time  of  "problems,"  "sermons," 
"arguments,"  "symbols,"  and  the  flatulent  nonsense  of 
scissorized  novels  and  dirty  farce,  and  she  came  as  a 
relief  and  a  blessing — the  authentic  representative  of 
youth,  health,  strength,  love,  and  hope. 

There  is  one  moment  in  "The  Darling  of  the  Gods" 


250  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

when  suspense  is  wrought  to  a  point  of  intense  tension, 
and  when  the  inherent,  essential  faculty  of  the  actor, 
the  power  to  reveal  almost  in  a  flash  the  feeling  of 
the  heart  and  the  working  of  the  mind,  is  imperatively 
required.  Kara,  wounded,  exhausted,  desperate,  has 
sought  refuge  in  the  dwelling  of  the  Princess  Yo-San 
and,  hy  her,  has  heen  succored  and  concealed.  Migaku, 
the  Shadow,  a  spy  of  the  terrible  War  Minister,  Zakuri, 
has  traced  him  to  that  refuge,  but  a  devoted  guardian  of 
Yo-San,  Inu,  a  Corean  giant,  has  detected  the  presence 
of  the  spy,  has  seized  and  slain  him,  and  has  hidden 
the  dead  body  in  a  stream.  Zakuri  and  the  father  of 
Yo-San  follow  the  spy,  and  come  to  the  dwelling  of 
Yo-San.  Zaruki  wishes  that  it  be  searched,  but  he 
agrees  to  accept  her  oath,  if  she  will  give  it,  that  she 
knows  nothing  of  the  whereabouts  of  Kara.  The  Prin- 
cess is  summoned  and,  denying  the  presence  of  Kara, 
is  required,  by  her  father,  to  swear  that  she  has  spoken 
the  truth.  Words  can  faintly  indicate  the  beauty  of 
the  picture  and  action  which  follow,  as  the  girl  seeks  to 
protect  her  lover.  The  time  is  night.  The  scene  is  a 
strange,  fantastic,  fairy-like  garden,  of  old  Japan,  a 
bower  of  flowers,  with  twining  wistaria  wreathing  the 
trees  and  house,  and  far,  far  off,  visible  in  the  silver 
moonlight,  a  great  snow-capped  volcano,  the  peak  of 
which  is  touched  with  ruddy  light.  The  father  and  the 
dreaded  Minister  of  War  stand  before  the  door.  Miss 
Bates,   as    Yo-San,   stood  a   little   above   them,   dressed 


From  a  Photograph  bn  Byron,   \.   r. 


In  ttic  Collection  of  the  Author. 

BLANCHE    BATES 

as 


The  Princess  Yo-San,  In  "The  Darling  of  the  Gods." 


BLANCHE    BATES  257 

in  soft,  flowing  white  garments,  open  at  the  throat,  her 
black  hair  loose  about  her  face  and  shoulders,  her 
beautiful  dark  eyes  suffused  with  a  fascinating  expres- 
sion of  innocence,  tranquillity,  and  tenderness.  Without 
a  moment  of  hesitation,  on  being  required  to  take  the 
most  solemn  of  oaths,  she,  with  sweetly  reverential 
dignity,  raised  a  bowl  of  burning  incense  and,  holding 
it  before  her,  spoke,  in  a  voice  of  perfect  music:  "Be- 
fore Shaka,  God  of  life  and  death, — to  whom  my  word 
goes  up  on  this  incense, — I  swear,  hanging  my  life  on 
the  answer,  I  have  not  seen  this  Kara!"  Then,  as  the 
discomfited  searchers  withdrew,  she  stood  for  a  moment, 
in  the  soft  light  streaming  upon  her  from  within  the 
house,  and,  gazing  after  them,  added,  looking  upward, 
"It  is  better  to  lie  a  little  than  to  be  unhappy  much!" 
If  she  had  done  nothing  else, — though  the  remainder 
of  her  professional  life  should  be  barren, — that  single 
moment  stamped  her  as  a  great  actress. 

"THE     GIRL    OF     THE     GOLDEN     WEST." 

David  Belasco's  play  of  "The  Girl  of  the  Golden 
West,"  which  was  produced  at  the  old  Belasco  Theatre 
on  November  14,  1905,  and  in  which  Blanche  Bates 
made  an  auspicious  success,  is  a  fabric  of  situations 
contrived  for  the  advantageous  display  of  that  old, 
familiar,  everlasting,  always  effective  theatrical  per- 
sonage, the  Rough  Diamond.  The  Girl  was  beautiful, 
intrepid,    passionate,    vivacious;    the   soul   of   innocence; 


258  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

the  incarnation  of  virtue;  the  blooming  rose  of  vigor- 
ous health;  and  she  could  swear  fluently,  play  cards, 
and  shoot  to  kill.  She  kept  a  drinking  shop;  she  was 
adored  by  all  "the  bo}Ts";  and  the  fame  of  her  probity 
and  her  many  fascinations  tilled  the  country-side  of 
California,  in  the  halyeon  days  of  '49.  That  fortunate 
State,  according  to  the  testimonj^  of  novelists  and  bards, 
was  densely  populated,  at  that  time,  by  girls  of  this 
enchanting  order;  but  this  particular  Girl  seems  to  have 
transcended  all  rivals.  She  was  beloved  by  a  pictur- 
esque and  expeditious  outlaw,  who  had  gained  brilliant 
renown  by  means  of  highway  robbery,  and  likewise 
she  was  beloved  by  the  local  Sheriff,  a  grim,  obnoxious 
officer,  self-dedicated  to  the  wicked  business  of  causing 
that  outlaw's  arrest  and  death.  Both  those  lovers  were 
ardent,  and,  between  these  two  fires,  her  situation  was 
difficult;  but  she  always  rose  to  the  occasion,  and  when 
her  outlaw  was  entrapped  by  his  pursuer  the  ingenuity 
of  her  love  and  the  dexterity  of  her  stratagem  delivered 
him  from  bondage,  and,  upon  his  promise  of  reforma- 
tion and  integrity,  launched  him  upon  a  new  and  better 
career.  The  most  conspicuous  display  of  her  passionate 
devotion  and  adroit  skill  occurred  on  a  night  when  he 
was  captured  in  her  dwelling.  The  circumstances  were 
essentially  dramatic — for  the  Girl  and  her  favored  swain 
were  stormbound  in  a  mountain  cabin,  whither  the 
Sheriff  had  tracked  his  prey;  and  the  robber  had  been 
shot    and    wounded,    so    that    there    seemed    to    be    no 


BLANCHE    BATES  259 

method   of  escape   for   him, — till   the   Girl   proposed   a 
game  of  poker  with  his  foe,  staking  herself  against  the 
liberty   of    her   sweetheart,    and    won    it    by    successful 
emulation    of    the    Heathen    Chinee, — substituting    "an 
ace  full"  for  an  empty  hand,  at  the  decisive  moment. 
There   came   a   time,   however,   when   even   Love   could 
do  no  more;  but  at  that  crisis  Fate  interposed,  in  the 
shape  of  Public  Opinion, — that  is  to  say,  the  friendship 
of  "the  boys," — and  the  Girl  and  her  lover  were  united. 
The  condition  of  California  in  1849  was,  to  say  the 
least  of  it,  turbulent.     Some  parts  of  that  State  are  in 
a  turbulent  condition  now.     Groups  of  "the  boys"  can 
still    be    discovered.      They    are    not   paragons,    though, 
and  they  never  were.     The  existence  of  good  impulses 
in  uncouth  persons  does  not  make  them  less  uncouth. 
Fine   qualities    can,    and    do,    exist   in   beings    who    are 
unfamiliar  with  soap  and  the  tooth-brush;  but  it  would 
seem  that  the  study  of  human  nature  can  be  pursued, 
more    agreeably    than    elsewhere,    among    saponaceous 
branches  of  the  race.     It  is  more  pleasant  to  read  about 
"the  boys"  than  it  is  to  see  them.     But,  broadly  speak- 
ing, in  Belasco's  drama  the  Girl  is  the  play,  and  with 
Miss  Bates  as  the  Girl  there  was  but  little  more  to  be 
desired.      Shorn    of    all    extraneous    fringes — variously 
impious,    improper,    vulgar,    and   offensive    interjections 
of    profanity    and    violent    expletive — the    play  x  is    the 
image  of  a  lovely,  impetuous  woman's  devotion  to  her 
lover, — a  devotion  that  is  shown  in  a  series   of  actions 


260  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

done  by  her  to  save  him  from  danger  and  ruin  and  to 
make  him  happy.  Feminine  heroism  is  the  theme, 
and  the  Girl  selected  to  exemplify  it  is  meant  to  be 
"a  child  of  nature,"  simple,  direct,  and  true.  Given 
that  ideal  to  interpret,  Miss  Bates  placed  her  reliance 
on  Acting,  and  there  were  moments  in  her  perform- 
ance,— as,  for  example,  in  the  First  Act,  as  the  Girl 
speaks  of  the  protective  instinct  in  the  heart  of  woman, 
— when  the  soul  that  showed  itself  in  her  face  was 
beatific.  She  gave,  throughout,  a  personation  of 
extraordinary  variety  and  strength.  In  the  situations 
devised  for  the  heroine, — situations  which,  while  not 
radically  new,  are  ingeniously  contrived  and  are  fraught 
with  the  dominant  spell  of  suspense, — the  actress  had 
to  express  the  growth  of  love;  the  blissful  sense  of  being 
loved;  the  bitter  pangs  of  jealousy;  the  passionate 
resentment  of  a  heart  that  thinks  itself  betrayed  and 
wronged;  the  conflict  of  anger  with  affection;  the 
apprehension  of  deadly  peril,  and  the  nobility  of  self- 
conquest.  The  exaction  of  the  part  is  tremendous, 
equally  upon  physical  resource  and  nervous  vitality, 
but,  at  every  point,  it  was  met  and  satisfied.  The  play 
exemplifies  its  author's  remarkable  faculty  of  continua- 
tion in  the  making  of  characteristic  dialogue,  together 
with  ample  felicity  of  invention,  and  it  is  overlaid  (per- 
haps too  much  so)  with  profusion  of  details.  The 
midnight  tryst  of  the  Girl  and  the  Road  Agent  is  not 
a  credible  device,  but,  once  assumed  and  arranged,  that 


BLANCHE    BATES  261 

situation, — comprehending  the  outlaw's  detection  as  such 
by  the  Girl,  the  awakening  of  furious  jealousy,  her 
turning  him  out  into  the  storm,  her  subsequent  harbor- 
ing of  him,  and  the  game  of  cards  with  the  outlaw's 
life  and  liberty  staked  against  the  Girl's  whole  future, — 
is  handled  with  consummate  skill  and  moulded  to  splen- 
did results,  and  there  the  acting  of  Miss  Bates  rose  to 
a  magnificent  climax  of  emotion,  fulty  expressed  and 
yet  artistically  controlled  and  directed, — a  triumph  of 
intellectual   purpose. 


(On  November  28,  1912,  at  her  country  home,  near  Ossining, 
New  York,  Miss  Bates  was  married  to  Mr.  George  Creel,  of 
Denver,  Colorado.) 


VIII. 

THE  ACTING   OF   MRS.   FISKE. 

"MAGDA." 

The  play  of  "Magda"  which  Mrs.  Fiske  revived  at 
the  Fifth  Avenue  Theatre,  on  February  27,  1898,  pro- 
vides opportunity  for  effective  acting,  and  especially 
for  the  manifestation  of  that  morbid,  self-torturing, 
splenetie  temperament  which  finds  its  best  denotement 
in  the  intense,  half-repressed,  and  half-spasmodic  man- 
ner which  came  in  with  Clara  Morris,  which  received 
a  new  impulse  from  Mme.  Duse,  and  which  Mrs. 
Fiske  thought  it  desirable  to  adopt.  Judicious  observers 
were  content  with  Mrs.  Fiske's  original  manner,  and 
they  viewed  her  selection  of  Magda  with  keen  regret. 
She  played  the  part  exceedingly  well,  but  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  understand  why  an  actress  who  can  be  so  charm- 
ing in  better  things  should  have  condescended  to  such 
a  character.  Mrs.  Fiske,  it  may  be  said,  did  all  that 
can  be  done  with  Sudermann's  wearisome  type  of  fever 
and  flurry,  ill-balanced  mentality  and  disordered  nerves. 
In  the  one  blithe  passage  of  the  play, — the  coming  of 
Magda  to  her  old  home, — the  winning  sweetness  and 
the  bright  humor  of  the  actress  irradiated  the  scene,  like 

262 


THE    ACTING    OF    MRS.    FISKE         263 

a  sudden  burst  of  sunshine.  No  one  could  be  more 
charming  than  Mrs.  Fiske  was,  in  moments  of  happy 
buoyancy  and  playful  exhilaration.  She  was  exceed- 
ingly effective,  likewise,  in  the  expression  of  bitter  scorn 
of  the  betrayer  of  Mag  da,  in  her  utterance  of  satirical 
mockery  of  him,  and  in  her  assumption  of  exultant  tri- 
umph when  repelling  his  belated  advances.  Every 
opportunity  of  this  kind  was  fully  improved,  and  no 
doubt  the  prevision  of  the  actress,  as  to  what  she  could 
give  of  personal  utterance  in  these  situations,  was  a 
controlling  influence  in  her  selection  of  the  character. 
Her  faculty  of  impersonation,  her  individual  force,  and 
her  incisive  method  were  again  exemplified;  but  those 
had  long  been  known,  and  it  did  not  require  a  Magda 
to  prove  them. 

One  of  the  great  beauties  of  her  embodiment  was  its 
fine  discrimination  of  manner  toward  the  different  inter- 
locutors,— a  discrimination  revealing  keen  perception 
of  character,  great  knowledge  of  the  world,  and  acute 
perception  of  the  effect  of  experience  upon  individuality. 
Almost  the  only  defect, — if  not,  indeed,  the  only  one, — 
was  a  rapidity  of  enunciation  which,  overshooting  its 
mark,  produced  an  occasional  effect  of  incoherence. 
Nature  may  be  too  natural.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
speech  about  the  development  of  a  woman's  nature, 
under  the  stress  of  sin  and  suffering, — meretricious 
though  it  is,  and  full  of  falsehood  and  flummery, — was 
beautiful  with  passionate  eloquence  and  crystal  clarity. 


264  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

If  anything  could  redeem  this  character  it  would  be 
such  acting  as  that  of  Mrs.  Fiske,  and  it  is  recorded  that 
her  audience  followed  her  performance  with  interest, 
and  evinced  sympathy  with  her  portrayal  of  revolt 
against  commonplace  life,  and  especially  with  her 
humorous  strokes  of  satire  upon  average  stupidity. 
Most  persons,  perhaps,  find  the  world  dull,  and  are 
glad  of  anything  that  relieves  its  monotony. 

"LITTLE    ITALY." 

Mrs.  Fiske,  at  the  Fifth  Avenue  Theatre,  New  York, 
on  March  30,  1899,  produced  a  sombre  play  called 
"Little  Italy,"  by  the  late  Horace  B.  Fry,  and 
acted  the  principal  part  in  it.  On  the  same  evening,  by 
way  of  emphasizing  her  vocational  versatility,  she 
revived  an  English  adaptation  of  Sardou's  "Divorcons," 
and  acted  Cyprienne.  In  "Little  Italy,"  which  is  remi- 
niscent of  the  quality  of  "Cavalleria  Rusticana,"  she 
impersonated  a  poor  Italian  exile,  who,  from  an  environ- 
ment of  poverty  and  trouble,  goes  involuntarily  to  her 
death,  in  a  wild,  vain  effort  to  leave  the  trammels  of  her 
sordid  life  and  return  to  the  sunshine,  indolent  peace, 
and  dream-like  happiness  of  her  native  land.  The 
scene  is  the  "Italian  quarter"  of  New  York.  The 
woman  is  the  wife  of  a  coarse  Italian  shopkeeper,  with 
whom  she  is  badly  matched  and  with  whom  she  dwells 
in  discontent.     The  dramatic  situation  is  made  to  ensue 


THE   ACTING    OF    MRS.    FISKE        26J 

from  her  hearing  music  in  the  street,  made  by  her 
lover,  who  is  a  vagrant  from  Italy.  That  situation 
involves  a  colloquy  between  the  wife  and  the  lover  and 
their  agreement  to  return  home  together.  The  lover 
awaits  her  in  the  street,  but,  in  endeavoring  to  escape 
furtively,  by  means  of  a  lift,  the  woman  is  killed;  and, 
at  the  close,  the  husband  and  the  lover  are  confronted, 
in  a  strife  of  agony  and  fury,  in  the  presence  of  her 
dead  body. 

The  author  of  the  play — which  is  neatly  constructed 
and  smoothly  written,  in  one  act, — had,  of  course, 
observed  that  humble  life  affords  no  exemption  from 
the  misery  that  is  sequent  upon  unhappy  marriage,  or 
from  the  tragedy  that  is  possibly  attendant  upon 
thwarted  love  and  broken  faith.  His  drama  is  more 
picture  than  action,  and  it  suggests  more  than  it  dis- 
plays. To  use  the  kitchen-lift,  or  dumb-waiter,  as  a 
means  of  causing  accidental  death  was  to  employ  a 
rough  and  dubious  expedient  and  to  imperil  the  effect 
of  tragic  horror  by  taking  the  risk  of  derision.  In 
the  world  of  fact  such  things,  no  doubt,  do  happen, 
but,  in  the  realm  of  art,  the  instrument  of  fate  must 
never  be  absurd.  The  essential  charm  of  Mr.  Fry's 
work, — a  charm  so  delicate  that  it  might  readily  pass 
unnoticed, — is  its  suggestiveness  of  vague,  tearful, 
desolate  emotion,  the  strange  longing  for  home  and  rest, 
for  other  days  and  other  scenes,  that  may  suddenly  be 
awakened  by  the  scent   of  a   flower,  or   the   sound  of 


266  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

distant  music,  or  the  murmur  of  the  wind  in  the  leaves. 
Byron  has  said  it,  once  and  forever,  in  the  beautiful 
Mords   of   "Childe   Harold": 

"And  slight  withal  may  be  the  things  which  bring 
Back  on  the  heart  the  weight  which  it  would  fling 
Aside  forever;  it  may  be  a  sound — 
A  tone  of  music — summer's  eve — or  spring — 
A  flower — -the  wind — the  ocean — which  shall  wound, 
Striking  the  electric  chain  wherewith  we  are  darkly  bound." 

Mrs.  Fiske's  acting  afforded  a  shining  proof  that  a 
strong  personality,  far  from  being  incompatible  with  the 
greatest  histrionic  skill,  is  perfectly  harmonious  with  it. 
Her  identity  was  absolutely  merged  in  that  of  the 
passionate,  sorrow-stricken,  common  Italian  woman, 
and  yet  her  distinctive  personality,  animating  the 
embodiment  and  making  it  painfully  true,  was  not  for 
one  moment  eclipsed.  She  did  not  simply  assume  a 
disguise:  she  absorbed  and  reproduced  an  imagined 
type  of  human  nature,  causing  it  to  be  vitalized  by  all 
her  human  powers,  and  made  a  living  thing;  and  this 
is  acting,  as  the  art  has  been  shown  by  every  great 
actor  that  ever  lived.  The  performance  of  Julia  is  only 
a  sketch,  but  in  its  denotement  of  knowledge  of 
woman's  heart  and  of  human  sufferings,  in  the  skill  to 
express  it  (as  in  the  poor  creature's  ecstasy  at  sight  of 
her  lover,  from  whom  she  had  been  cruelly  parted,  to 
be  forced  into  a  hateful  marriage),  the  embodiment  had 


THE    ACTING    OF    MRS.    FISKE         267 

afflictive  power  and  meaning.  Mr.  Frederic  de  Belle- 
ville assumed  the  coarse,  ignorant,  ardent,  animal- 
like Italian  husband,  and  was  terrific  in  his  fidelity  to 
the  wilder  passions.  Attenuated  to  five  acts,  "Little 
Italy"  would,  probably,  be  deemed  a  respectable  trag- 
edy: circumscribed  within  one,  it  is  a  trial  sample  of 
tragic  climax.  Its  merit  is  positive.  Mr.  Fry  com- 
posed, for  its  musical  illustration,  a  dirge-like  accom- 
paniment not  less  touching  than  weird. 

"TESS    OF    THE    D'URBERVILLES." 

Readers  who  thoughtfully  observe  the  drift  of 
contemporary  fiction  are  aware  that  Thomas  Hardy 
is  a  novelist  of  extraordinary  power, — one  who  'sees 
clearly  the  facts  of  human  life,  and  who  writes  of  them 
with  humor  and  pathos,  and  in  a  style  remarkable  for 
boldness,  vigor,  imagination,  and  grace.  The  novel  that 
made  him  famous  is  "Far  from  the  Madding  Crowd," 
and  perhaps  that  work,  in  originality  of  conception, 
depth  of  feeling,  scope  and  variety  of  character,  and 
beauty  of  language,  is  the  best  that  has  proceeded  from 
his  pen.  In  almost  all  of  Hardy's  books,  and  especially 
in  "Tess,"  human  life  is  portrayed  in  its  painful  aspects, 
and  the  drift  is  almost  exclusively  tragical.  Many 
attributes  of  excellence  in  those  writings  might  be  speci- 
fied. The  humor,  in  some  of  them,  is  wonderfully  rich. 
The  English  peasants,  in  particular,  are  true  and  fine. 
The  knowledge  of  woman  is  comprehensive  and  accurate, 


208  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

— the  fidelity  with  which  she  is  drawn,  in  many  and 
diversified  types,  being  so  exact  and  coldly  true  as 
almost  to  seem  cruel.  But  the  pervading  quality  of 
Hardy's  novels, — the  attribute  that  transcends  all  others, 
— is  their  intimation  of  the  terrible,  inexorable 
sweep  of  fate.  In  that  respect  they  affiliate  with 
the  great  classics  of  literature,  and  bear  onward,  in  a 
modern  guise  and  a  romantic  attire,  the  tradition  of 
"Orestes"  and  "King  Lear."  "Tess"  is  an  exemplifica- 
tion of  all  the  horrors  of  malignant  destiny.  By  nature 
its  heroine  is  incarnate  goodness:  every  fibre  of  her 
being  is  pure :  and  yet,  under  the  stress  of  circumstances, 
the  compulsion  of  force  and  the  beguilement  of  fraud, 
partly  through  ignorance,  partly  through  delirium  and 
desperation,  she  is  harassed,  degraded,  despoiled, 
plunged  into  miser3r,  goaded  to  the  insane  commission  of 
homicide,  and  finally  is  hanged  for  murder.  The  story 
is  in  no  way  extravagant.  It  reads  like  truth.  A  spirit 
of  passionate  sincerity  glows  in  every  page  of  it,  and 
its  literary  art  is  exceedingly  beautiful.  For  a  reader  it 
seems  to  speak  with  the  awful  voice  of  that  unseen  power, 
— that  nameless  angel  of  darkness  and  death, — with 
whom  the  predestined  (Edipus  kept  the  fatal  tryst  and 
then  disappeared  forever. 

All  this  beauty  and  all  this  frightful  significance 
vanish  at  once  when  the  stoiy  of  Tess  is  transplanted 
to  the  stage.  The  principal  persons  who  are  impli- 
cated in  it,  and,  to  some  extent,  their  relations  to  one 


THE    ACTING   OF    MRS.    FISKE        269 

another,  can  be  shown.  The  atmosphere,  the  subtlety, 
the  complexity  of  motive,  the  variety  of  conduct,  the 
dignity,  the  poetry,  the  feeling, — those  attributes  which 
constitute  the  essential  style  and  soul  of  a  great  fabric 
of  art, — are  completely  lost.  The  book  is  a  tragedy. 
The  play  is  the  love-story  of  a  female  in  distress.  Tess 
is  no  longer  Tess;  she  is  only  that  old,  familiar  figure, 
the  Woman  with  a  Past.  She  has  been  betrayed  by 
a  libertine,  but,  that  episode  being  over,  she  is  married 
to  a  gentleman,  and  when  the  betrayer  reappears  she 
kills  him;  and  then  she  repairs  to  Stonehenge,  toward 
sunrise,  and  there,  although  this  is  left  to  conjecture, 
she  is  supposed  to  die  in  a  perpendicular  attitude.  The 
purpose  of  the  novelist, — the  artistic  purpose,  which  is 
as  ancient  as  iEschylus,  and  which  alone  could  justify 
the  presentment  of  such  a  theme, — the  purpose  to 
arouse  pity  and  terror,  humanizing  to  the  heart  and 
exalting  to  the  mind, — is  completely  ignored.  Theatri- 
cal conventionality  of  method,  employed  with  a  ruthless 
precision  which  seems  almost  comic,  mars  a  work  of 
transcendent  genius. 

In  the  novel  the  principal  scene  is  that  of  the  expla- 
nation between  Tess  and  her  husband,  together  with 
the  subsequent  somnambulism,  before  their  separation. 
In  a  play  those  situations,  if  used,  would  appear 
ridiculous.  The  part  actually  introduced,  so  far  from 
being  either  tragic  or  pathetic,  conveys  only  an  impres- 
sion of  indelicacy,   ill-breeding,   and  bad  taste.     Great 


270  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

representative  novels  of  the  English  language, — such 
books  as  "Vathek,"  "Anastasius,"  "Ivanhoe,"  "The  Anti- 
quary;' "Old  Mortality,"  "Harold,"  "Zanoni,"  "Henry 
Esmond,"  'The  Newcomes,"  "Lorna  Doone,"  "The 
Scarlet  Letter,"  and  'The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth," — 
cannot  be  adequately  interpreted  by  any  known  dra- 
matic process.  Left  to  themselves,  each  one  of  them 
is  a  blessing;  garbled  for  the  Stage  and  turned  into 
something  that  is  neither  story  nor  play,  any  one  of 
them  becomes  a  burden.  It  is  much  to  be  regretted, 
accordingly,  that  such  treasures  of  literary  art  should 
ever  be  disturbed  by  the  devastating  hand  of  experi- 
mental playwrights.  The  novels  of  Llardy  contain, 
for  a  reader,  dramatic  elements  that  powerfully  affect 
the  imagination,  but  those  elements  dwindle  when 
they  are  subjected  to  the  scrutiny  of  the  eye,  in  the 
narrow  confines  of  a  stage.  In  thinking  of  that  poor, 
exhausted,  wretched  Tess,  sleeping  on  the  ground, 
among  the  mysterious  giant  rocks  of  Stonehenge,  while 
her  lover  and  the  officers  of  the  law  await  her  awaken- 
ing, the  heart  is  wrung  with  anguish  and  the  mind  is 
stricken  with  awe.  On  the  stage  that  picture  would 
cause  no  effect. 

Mrs.  Fiske  produced  "Tess  of  the  D'Urbervilles"  on 
May  2,  1897,  at  the  Fifth  Avenue  Theatre,  and  sub- 
sequently presented  it  in  many  cities,  throughout  the 
United  States.  The  play  is  comprised  in  four  acts. 
The  first  of  them  is  burdened  with  prattle.     Three  dis- 


THE    ACTING    OF    MRS.    FISKE         271 

contented  virgins,  one  of  whom  is  bibulous,  incommode 
the  scene  and  delay  the  movement:  one  of  them,  in  the 
original  production,  was  admirably  acted  by  Miss  Annie 
Irish.  The  beginning  of  Act  Second  is  encumbered, 
in  like  manner,  with  needless  persons  and  untimely  chat- 
ter. The  heroine,  Tess,  has  been  betrayed  by  a  scoun- 
drel, and  has  become  a  mother  without  having  become 
a  wife.  Her  child  has  died,  and  she  has  found  employ- 
ment and  has  received  an  offer  of  marriage.  She  wishes 
to  make  her  suitor  acquainted  with  her  unfortunate 
experience,  and  she  writes  a  confession  and  places  it 
within  his  reach,  promising  to  become  his  wife  if,  after 
having  read  that  letter,  he  is  willing  to  marry  her.  Her 
mother  takes  away  the  letter  and  puts  a  rose  in  its 
place,  and  thereupon  the  projected  marriage  occurs, 
but,  on  returning  from  church,  both  the  husband  and 
the  wife  confess  previous  incontinence,  and  then  the 
husband  repudiates  the  wife  and  leaves  her.  Later, 
believing  him  to  be  dead,  and  being  in  penury  and 
distress,  she  accepts  the  protection  of  her  betrayer,  and 
that  scoundrel  presently  treats  her  with  great  brutality. 
Her  husband  unexpectedly  returns,  and  in  her  anger 
she  kills  the  ruffian  by  whom  she  has  been  seduced,  and 
she  then  goes,  with  her  husband,  to  Stonehenge,  where 
they  are  overtaken  by  the  police. 

In  the  earlier  part  of  her  busy  and  brilliant  pro- 
fessional career  Mrs.  Fiske  charmed  the  public  by  her 
blithe  temperament  and  sprightly  demeanor,  her  sparkle 


272  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

and  dash.  Later  she  became  impressed  with  a  sense 
of  serious  purpose  in  acting,  and  drifted  into  the  style 
which  has  been  designated  "emotional."  She  had  glit- 
tered as  a  sunbeam:  she  elected  to  glitter  as  a  tear.  But 
Mrs.  Fiske  is  a  woman  of  more  intellect  than  feeling, 
and  when  she  appeared  as  Tess  she  was  more  intel- 
lectual than  emotional.  Her  performance  possessed 
charm,  but  not  any  authentic  show  of  passion.  She  was 
remarkably  sympathetic  in  her  simulation  of  mirth, 
immediately  after  the  wedding.  In  the  first  scene  of  the 
Fourth  Act,  which  terminates  with  the  murder,  she  was 
singularly  ineffective,  by  reason  of  her  continuous  main- 
tenance of  a  stony  demeanor  of  complete  congelation. 
The  act  of  murder  (which  ought  to  have  been  shown  by 
the  dramatist  and  ought  to  have  been  done,  quickly, 
in  a  frenzy  of  passion)  was  done  off-stage,  out  of  sight, 
and  the  effect  was  made  undramatic  and  trivial  by  a 
sort  of  artificially  intense,  over-repressed  manner. 
An  assumption  of  horror-frozen  calm  might  have 
proved  strikingly  effective,  if  suddenly  used  after 
any  previous  protracted,  convincing  display  of  deep 
emotion.  Mrs.  Fiske's  Tess  was  endowed  with  mind, 
power,  repose,  grace,  and  singularity,  but  it  did  not 
in  the  least  resemble  the  Tess  of  Hardy's  novel.  Her 
performance,  nevertheless,  was  greatly  admired  and 
it  was  accepted  with  abundant  favor,  for  a  long 
time,  all  over  the  country.  Charles  Coghlan's  imper- 
sonation of  the  clever,  cynical  sensualist, — at  first  craft jr 


THE    ACTING    OF    MRS.    FISKE         273 

in  his   passion,   and   afterward   brutal   in   his   profligate 
baseness, — was  truth  itself. 

"BECKY    SHARP." 

An  important  event  of  the  dramatic  season  of 
1899-1900  in  New  York  was  the  appearance  of  Mrs. 
Fiske  as  Becky  Sharp,  in  a  play  of  that  name,  by 
Mr.  Langdon  Mitchell,  produced  at  the  Fifth  Avenue 
Theatre  on  September  12,  1899.  That  bold  venture 
revived  the  great  subject  of  Thackeray's  writings  and 
influence.  The  intellect,  benignity,  tolerant  patience, 
tender  gravity,  unerring  insight,  comprehensive  knowl- 
edge, delicious,  lambent  humor,  fancy,  deep  feeling, 
inventive  and  constructive  skill,  and  the  flexible  style 
of  that  beneficent  writer  are  more  fully  and  authori- 
tatively manifested  in  his  novel  of  "Henry  Esmond" 
than  in  any  other  single  one  of  his  works,  and  "Esmond," 
accordingly,  can  be  regarded  as  his  supreme  achieve- 
ment. Next  among  Thackeray's  writings  stands 
"Vanity  Fair."  In  that  book  the  predominant  quali- 
ties are  broad  and  clear  vision;  merciless  satire  of  evil 
and  wrong;  satirical  humor  mingled  with  sadness;  just 
censure  softened  by  occasional  intimations  of  pity; 
wonderfully  graphic  portraiture  of  character  and  man- 
ners; and  a  puissant  vigor  of  spontaneous  style  that 
keeps  the  reader  interested  to  the  end.  "Vanity  Fair" 
is  the  most  brilliant  and  the  most  sadly  bitter  of  all 
the  writings  of  the  greatest  of  modern  novelists.     There 


274,  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

cannot  be  a  doubt  of  its  truth,  but,  baleful  though 
that  truth  may  be,  it  is  invariably  told  to  beneficial 
purpose. 

All  votaries  of  the  great  satirist  who  have  followed 
his  shining  track,  from  "The  Great  Hoggarty  Diamond" 
to  "Denis  Duval,"  are  aware  of  the  tenor  of  his  phi- 
losophy. Human  nature,  while  possessed  of  virtues 
and  capable  of  heroism,  is  marred  by  miserable  and 
shocking  infirmities,  and  its  capacity  for  selfishness, 
meanness,  and  every  form  of  baseness  is  without  limit. 
Thackeray  saw  this,  and  knew  it  to  be  true,  and, 
observing  in  every  direction  the  busy  schemes  of  covet- 
ous desire,  the  hardness  of  insensate  vulgarity,  and  the 
prosperity  of  hypocrisy  and  fraud,  he  could  not  restrain 
his  satire  of  mankind.  He  has  often  been  miscalled  a 
cynic.  Women,  in  particular,  seldom  like  him,  for  the 
reason  that  he  sees  them  as  they  are,  and  laughs  at 
their  pettiness,  malice,  cruelty,  and  spite,  while  rever- 
encing their  goodness  and  deeply  and  tenderly  com- 
miserating their  many  trials  and  sorrows.  But  no 
man  in  literature  has  shown  a  broader  vision,  a  more 
considerate  charity,  or  a  more  tender  heart.  No  painter 
of  human  nature  and  human  life,  since  Shakespeare, 
is  as  great,  except  Walter  Scott.  No  writer  in  any 
age  has  said  words  of  more  solemn  import  to  the  human 
race,  and  no  writer  is  more  worthy  of  universal  study. 
Every  influence,  therefore,  should  be  heartily  welcomed 
which  tends,  in  any  degree,  to  promote  the  reading  of 


Photoyraph  by  Aped's  studio. 


Courtesy  of  Harrison  Grey  Fiskc,  Esq. 


MRS.    FISKE 

as 

Becky  Sharp,  in  "Becky  Sharp"    ("Vanity  Fair"). 


THE    ACTING    OF    MRS.    FISKE         275 

Thackeray.  There  never  was  a  time  when  his  satire 
was  more  needed  than  it  is  now,  and  although  the  cut- 
ting and  carving  of  the  great  novels  of  our  language, 
for  the  purpose  of  utilizing  them  on  the  stage,  is  not 
commendable,  seeing  that  a  great  novel  is  inevitably 
dwarfed  when  transmuted  into  a  play,  Mrs.  Fiske's 
presentment  of  the  play  of  "Becky  Sharp"  probably 
did  serve  the  salutary  purpose  of  causing  many  per- 
sons to  make,  or  to  renew,  acquaintance  with  Thack- 
eray's "Vanity  Fair,"  of  which  that  play  is  a  partial 
abstract  and  brief  epitome. 

In  the  light  of  experience,  not  to  say  of  reason,  it 
ought  not  to  be  expected  that  a  play  will  ever  do 
entire  justice  to  a  fine  novel.  The  dramatist,  like  the 
novelist,  works  with  colloquy;  but  where  the  novelist 
employs  narrative,  which  is  his  principal  means,  the 
dramatist  must  employ  action;  and  narrative  and  action 
are  seldom,  if  ever,  interchangeable.  The  reader  of 
the  narrative  of  David  Dodd's  sea  fight,  in  Reade's 
"Hard  Cash,"  or  of  John  Ridd's  rescue  of  Lorna  from 
her  terribly  perilous  captivity,  in  Elackmore's  "Lorna 
Doone,"  is  swept  along  in  a  fever  of  excitement,  because, 
to  the  imagination,  the  scene  is  actual,  and  nothing 
is  present  to  dissipate  the  atmosphere  of  romantic 
reality.  The  same  thing,  presented  to  the  vision,  would 
be  judged  as  a  fact,  and,  so  judged,  it  would  be  found 
inadequate,  because  comparatively  lifeless  and  tame. 
In  "Vanity  Fair,"  of  which  Becky  Sharp  is  the  central 


27(3  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

character,  the  most  telling  points,  with  little  excep- 
tion, are  such  as  could  not  be  shown,  theatrically,  with 
any  effect.  Some  of  those  points  are  readily  remem- 
bered— such,  for  example,  as  the  scene  of  Jos.  Sedley's 
inebriety  at  Vauxhall;  Bobbins  purchase  of  Amelias 
piano,  at  the  auction;  old  Sedley's  impartment,  to  his 
wife,  of  the  news  of  their  financial  ruin;  Dobbins  inter- 
view with  that  broken  merchant,  at  the  Tapioca  Coffee- 
house; the  quarrel  between  George  Osborne  and  his 
father,  about  the  "Hottentot  Venus,"  Mm  Swartz;  the 
picture  of  Dobbin  standing  on  the  church  steps,  in  the 
rain,  after  George  and  Amelia,  just  married,  have 
driven  away;  the  lonely,  pathetic,  awful  night,  in  old 
Osborne's  study,  when  that  grim,  bitter,  afflicted  world- 
ling erases  his  son's  name  from  the  family  Bible  and 
prepares  to  disinherit  him  by  destroying  his  will;  the 
incident  of  Amelia's  pretence  of  being  asleep  when  her 
husband,  in  momentary  remorse  for  his  vicious  neglect, 
bends  over  her  pillow;  the  heart-breaking  pathos  of 
Amelia's  remonstrance  with  Becky  Sharp,  after  the 
march  of  the  troops  from  Brussels;  Osborne's  reception 
of  the  letter  from  George, — dead  and  gone,  and  unfor- 
given;  the  picture  of  Osborne,  in  his  pew,  at  the  Found- 
ling Church,  looking  up  at  the  mural  tablet,  newly 
placed,  to  commemorate  his  son,  who  has  been  killed 
in  battle;  the  visit  of  the  morose  but  suffering  parent 
to  the  field  of  Waterloo;  Amelia's  discovery  that  she 
owes  her   piano    (that   forlorn   waif,   rescued  from   the 


THE    ACTING    OF    MRS.    FISKE         277 

bankrupt  sale)  to  the  unselfish  affection  of  Dobbin,  and 
not,  as  she  had  believed,  to  the  tender  thought  fulness 
of  her  husband;  Becky  Sharp's  demure  behavior  when 
singing  Mozart's  religious  songs  to  Lady  Gaunt;  the 
patient  grief  of  the  widowed  Amelia,  who  must  part 
with  her  boy,  and  who  listens  while  he  reads  to  her  the 
Bible  story  of  the  infant  Samuel  given  to  the  high 
priest  to  serve  before  the  Lord;  Dobbins  parting  from 
Amelia  when,  after  fifteen  years  of  self-sacrificing 
devotion,  he  breaks  her  chain  and  declares  himself  to 
be  free;  and,  finally,  the  meeting  between  Dobbin  and 
Amelia,  on  the  rain-beaten  pier  at  Ostend,  when  at 
last  that  noble  gentleman  wins  the  poor  little  prize  of 
his  life-long  desire.  Those  incidents  of  the  novel  may 
seem  dramatic  to  the  mind,  but  they  would  not  be 
dramatic  to  the  eye.  No  felicity  of  dramatic  treatment 
could  make  them  effective  on  the  stage.  The  difficulty 
is  radical.  A  picture  does  not  move,  and  the  story  of 
"Vanity  Fair,"  however  expeditious  it  may  seem  to 
the  mental  gaze  of  a  reader,  is  essentially  a  picture. 
The  only  current  of  practical,  cumulative  action  that 
it  suggests  is  the  intrigue  between  Becky  Sharp  (Mrs. 
Rawdon  Crawley)  and  Lord  Steyne, — culminating  in 
Steyne's  punishment  and  Becky's  exposure,  downfall, 
and  exile.  The  rest  is  narrative  interspersed  with  com- 
mentary; and  narrative  and  commentary  do  not  become 
dramatical ly  propulsive  from  being, — though  even  in  the 
highest  degree, — satirically  humorous,  brilliant,  and  wise. 


278  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

Lord  Steyne's  intrigue  with  Becky  Sharp, — as,  indeed, 
was  inevitable,- — was  chosen  by  Mr.  Langdon  Mitchell 
as  the  central  theme  for  his  play, — and  in  four  artfully 
planned,  neatly  constructed,  and  tersely  written  acts 
that  dramatist  partly  told  and  largely  indicated  the 
story  of  a  wily,  subtle  adventuress,  who  unscrupulously 
sought  for  money  and  social  position,  and  who  came  to 
grief,  at  last,  through  imprudence  and  ill  luck.  Becky 
Sharp,  in  the  play,  is  not  presented  because  she  is, 
good,  nor  because  she  is  evil,  but  because  she  is 
physically  attractive  and  mentally  clever.  By  way  of 
providing  an  animated  background  and  also  an  episode 
of  suspense,  incidental  to  the  Steyne  intrigue,  the  ball 
at  Brussels  on  the  night  before  Waterloo  was,  by  the 
dramatist,  transposed,  newly  and  variously  embellished, 
— in  the  spirit  of  Byron's  splendid  stanzas  about  it,  in 
"Childe  Harold," — and  exceedingly  well  utilized.  How 
well  the  task  was  done, — with  what  a  keen  perception 
of  possible  theatrical  effect,  what  adroitness  in  the 
arrangement  of  sequent  details,  and  what  verbal 
ingenuity, — those  persons  only  can  fully  appreciate  who 
are  familiar  with  the  novel.  Mr.  Mitchell's  drama, 
indeed,  is  coherent  and  intelligible  by  itself,  and  yet 
a  precise  knowledge  of  the  novel  will  deepen  the 
reader's  enjoyment  of  the  play,  because  it  will  enable 
him  to  round  out  the  characters,  where  those  have  only 
been  sketched,  and  to  perceive  the  practical  talent  with 
which  a   difficult   subject   has   been   treated.     At   most 


THE    ACTING    OF    MRS.    FISKE         279 

times  the  language  is  that  of  the  dramatist,  but  at  some 
times  the  language  is  that  of  the  novel,  and  some  of 
Thackeray's  dialogue  has  been  woven  into  the  fabric 
of  the  colloquy,  and  numerous  preliminary  incidents  of 
the  original  are  condensed  and  specified  in  the  opening 
display  of  the  relations  of  the  characters  to  one  another. 
The  foreground  epitomizes  Becky  Sharp's  life  up  to  the 
climax  of  her  runaway  match  with  Rawdon  Crawley, 
and  shows  how  George  Osborne  and  Amelia  Sedley 
have  been  privately  married,  and  that  Dobbin  is  wearing 
the  willow.  The  ball  at  Brussels  follows,  in  the  course 
of  which  George  Osborne's  flirtation  with  Becky  reaches 
the  bouquet  and  concealed  note  epoch;  Becky's  conquest 
of  Lord  Steyne  is  foreshadowed;  Jos.  Sedley' s  absurd 
eccentricities  and  foolish  proceedings  are  comically  dis- 
played; the  gambling  tricks  of  Becky  and  Rawdon  are 
shown  and  emphasized ;  and  the  solemn  effect  of  hilarious 
festivities  suddenly  broken  and  held  in  a  chill  of 
anguish,  suspense,  and  dismay,  by  the  opening  roar 
of  the  cannon  of  Waterloo,  is  superbly  created.  Later 
George  Osborne  is  dead,  Amelia  has  rejected  the  faith- 
ful Dobbin,  and  Becky  is  reigning  in  her  pretty  little 
London  house,  in  Curzon  Street,  beset  with  duns  and 
difficulties;  and  so  comes  on  the  tragedy  of  the  advent- 
uress. Becky  has  cheated  and  swindled  one  of  her  hus- 
band's guests,  her  iniquity  has  been  discovered,  and 
she  makes  a  compact  with  Lord  Steyne  to  grant  him 
a  private  meeting  if  he  will  pay  her  debts.     She  lies  to 


•280  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

her  husband;  she  meanly  connives  at  his  arrest;  she 
makes  ready  for  utter  perdition;  and,  in  a  most  pain- 
ful and  shocking  scene,  she  is  suddenly  overtaken  by 
the  stroke  of  exposure  which  is  retributive  fate.  The 
climax  is  a  burst  of  horrible  hysterics,  of  mingled 
anger,  shame,  delirium,  and  despair. 

Mrs.  Fiske, — radiant  with  physical  vivacity  and  with 
satirical  pleasantry  throughout  the  greater  part  of  the 
performance, — was  magnificent  at  that  juncture,  caus- 
ing breathless  suspense,  and  winning  the  sympathetic 
response  that  true  and  deep  emotion,  adequately  uttered, 
always  gives  to  natural  passion  and  authentic  power. 

The  ethical  question  arises,  and  observers  who  look 
below  the  surface  ask  whether  it  was  worth  while  to 
put  Becky  Sharp  on  the  stage.  Opinions  differ.  Mrs. 
Fiske  gave  a  fine  impersonation  of  intrinsic  wicked- 
ness, fraught  with  the  obvious  and  perfectly  conven- 
tional moral  that  evil  is  hideous  and  is  predestined  to 
ultimate  failure.  There  is,  however,  a  sweeter  way  of 
doing  good  than  the  way  of  showing  the  vice  which 
should  be  shunned,  and  that  is  the  way  of  showing  the 
virtue  which  should  be  emulated.  People  are  better 
and  happier  for  passing  an  hour  with  Dr.  Primrose  than 
for  passing  an  hour  with  lago.  But  good  can  be  dra- 
matically shown  only  by  contrast  with  evil,  and  the 
greatest  of  writers,  with  Shakespeare  at  their  head, 
have  always  presented  that  contrast.  The  essential 
thing  is  the  manner  of  the  presentment.     The  ethical 


THE    ACTING    OF    MRS.    FISKE         281 

defect  of  Mr.  Mitchell's  play  is  that  its  lights  are  low 
and  its  shadows  heavy.  Viewed  as  a  total  reproduction 
of  "Vanity  Fair,"  it  might  as  well  be  called  "Sally 
Blunt"  as  "Becky  Sharp."  In  the  novel  human  nature 
is  shown  at  its  best  as  well  as  its  worst.  Even  Becky, — 
liar,  thief,  swindler,  impostor,  presumptive  adulteress, 
unprincipled  and  corrupt, — is  endowed  with  traits  that 
half  redeem  her  depravity:  she  is  good-natured,  blithe, 
buoyant,  brilliant,  seductive,  and,  on  occasion,  capable 
of  kindness.  In  the  play, — although  she  helps  to  unite 
Amelia  and  Dobbin,  by  exposing  the  fraudulent  char- 
acter of  the  sainted  George, — Becky  is  scarcely  any- 
thing more  than  the  unrelieved  incarnation  of  vicious, 
repulsive,  aggressive  selfishness.  The  subduing  effect 
of  perfectly  natural  surroundings,  such  as  are  given 
in  the  novel,  are  lacking  in  the  play,  and  this  helps  to 
make  Becky's  baseness  more  conspicuous.  Many  of  the 
persons  associated  with  her  in  the  original  are  excluded, 
and  those  that  are  retained  are,  necessarily,  much  modi- 
fied. Dobbin  and  Amelia,  in  particular, — one  of  the 
noblest  of  men  and  one  of  the  sweetest  of  women, — 
dwindle  into  wooden  images.  Old  Osborne  and  his 
daughters,  old  Sedley  and  his  wife,  the  gallant  O'Dowd 
and  his  glorious  Peggy,  the  bold  McMurdo,  the  Rev. 
Bute  Crawley,  scheming  Mrs.  Bute  (that  paragon  of 
propriety  and  superserviceable  zeal),  and  James,  whose 
"pipe  is  put  out"  in  one  of  Thackeray's  most  delicious 
scenes  of  character  and  humor,  are  among  the  many 


282  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

cherished  acquaintances  that  do  not  appear.  Becky 
predominates, — the  symbol  of  worldly  wickedness; 
wrong  because  she  cannot  help  it;  sometimes  wishful  to 
be  right;  hopelessly  entangled;  driven  on  from  bad  to 
worse,  and,  quite  unconsciously,  a  living  appeal  to 
human  pity. 

With  reference  to  bad  men  and  women,  it  is,  of 
course,  always  to  be  remembered  that  evil  as  well 
as  good  is  elemental  in  nature,  and  that  evil  as 
well  as  good  exists  and  flourishes  according  to  the 
operation  of  heredity,  education,  and  environment. 
The  tiger  is  born  a  tiger,  even  as  the  lamb  is  born  a 
lamb,  and  neither  of  them  is  responsible  for  the  fact 
of  birth.  There  may  be  such  a  thing  as  total  depravity, 
but,  if  so,  it  is  a  form  of  insanity.  As  a  rule,  no  human 
being  exists  whose  nature  does  not  contain  some  grains 
of  goodness.  The  universal  obligation,  accordingly,  is 
that  of  charity.  That  obligation,  and  that  alone,  was 
suggested,  as  a  final  result,  by  the  stage  presentment  of 
the  character  of  Becky  Sharp.  Persons  can  be  made 
sympathetic  in  books  who  would  not  be  sympathetic  in 
actual  life,  and  persons  who  would  not  be  sympathetic 
in  actual  life  can  never  be  made  sympathetic  on  the 
stage.  Becky  Sharp,,  on  paper,  can  be  admired  and  even 
liked:  nothing  could  be  more  delicious  than  Becky, 
when  discomfiting  such  a  pompous  ass  as  Lady  Bare- 
acres:  but  Becky,  actually  in  the  flesh,  visible  and 
understood,  would  evoke  no  liking,  but  only  commingled 


THE    ACTING    OF    MRS.    FISKE         283 

distrust,  consternation,  aversion,  and  sorrow.  Becky 
is  a  sparkling  and  dangerous  little  Bohemian,  reckless 
of  consequences  and  possessed  of  a  tremendous  will. 
She  knows  the  world,  knows  human  nature,  knows  how 
good  people  and  weak  people  and  foolish  people  are 
certain  to  act,  under  all  sorts  of  circumstances,  and  she 
uses  that  knowledge  to  make  her  way  to  worldly  success. 
She  expends  prodigious  energy  within  a  narrow  field, 
overreaches  herself,  and  miserably  fails.  The  dramatist, 
causing  her  to  play  with  loaded  dice,  and  converting 
Rawdoji  Crawley  into  a  card-sharper,  has  made  crimi- 
nals of  them  both  and  has  involved  them  in  imminent 
peril;  and  thereupon  he  has  represented  Becky  as  will- 
ing to  obtain  pecuniary  assistance  and  personal  immunity 
by  a  surrender,  in  which  there  is  not  even  the  pretence 
of  passion,  to  the  degrading  suit  of  the  profligate 
Steyne.  Such  a  woman  is  worse  than  a  professed  wan- 
ton, and  this  woman  is  the  more  despicably  guilty 
because  she  is  a  traitor  to  her  husband,  who  really  loves 
her,  as  well  as  to  everybody  else.  And  then  comes  the 
catastrophe, — when  Rawdon  Crawley,  being  released 
from  captivity,  surprises  his  wife,  in  the  glittering,  ter- 
rible, tragical  midnight  scene  with  her  libidinous  suitor. 
That  climax  was  contrived  with  skill,  and  it  was  the 
supreme  moment  of  the  drama.  All  that  followed 
was  tame.  In  the  last  act  Becky  fleeces  Jos\  Sedley, 
the  fat  epicure,  imposes  on  Sir  Pitt  Crawley,  the  fool- 
ish prig,  and  vanishes  as  a  demure  hypocrite,  intent  to 


28*  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

prosper  by  pretending  to  be  pious.  So  Thackeray 
himself  left  her,  in  his  charming  letter  that  came  to 
light  in  1888: 

"Mrs.  Crawley,"  lie  said,  "now  lives  in  a  small  but  very  pretty 
house  in  Belgravia,  and  is  conspicuous  for  her  numerous  charities, 
which  always  get  into  the  newspapers,  and  her  unaffected  piety. 
Many  of  the  most  exalted  and  spotless  of  her  own  sex  visit  her, 
and  are  of  opinion  that  she  is  a  most  injured  woman." 

Mrs.  Fiske's  impersonation  of  Becky  Sharp  revealed 
a  distinct  ideal,  and  it  was  remarkable  for  its  physical 
as  well  as  mental  brilliancy,  its  clear  and  pure  verbal 
utterance,  and  its  splendid  energy  of  sustained,  yet 
thoroughly  concealed,  artistic  effort.  The  element  in 
Becky's  character  which  is  chiefly  fascinating  is  her 
sprightly  and  refreshing  intolerance  of  stupid  conven- 
tionality. That  shows  itself  in  scornful  satire  of  asses 
and  prigs,  arrogant  conceit,  empty  ostentation,  and  pre- 
tentious folly.  That  attribute  of  the  character  was 
made  delightfully  clear  by  Mrs.  Fiske,  and  the  actress 
also  consistently  maintained  a  certain  feverish  buoyancy 
and  glittering  excitement.  It  would  be  useless  to  make 
Becky  Sharp  as  callous  and  as  flippantly  frivolous  on 
the  stage  as  she  often  is  in  the  book,  for  that  would 
defeat  dramatic  purpose.  Mrs.  Fiske  furnished  what 
the  dramatist  omitted, — Becky's  idea  of  her  self-justifi- 
cation;  for,  artfully,  she  laid  a  strong  emphasis  on  the 
memory  of  Becky's  ill-treated  and  misguided  childhood, 
and  also  on  her  inherent  inability  to  escape  from  the 


THE    ACTING    OF    MRS.    FISKE         285 

blight  of  evil  ways.  The  performance  had  wonderful 
varietjr, — its  demeanor  fluctuating  from  demure  gravity 
and  sweet  candor  to  mordant  bitterness,  and  its  moods 
of  feeling  ranging  from  icy  sarcasm  and  merry  banter 
to  passionate  excitement  and  frenzied  despair.  The 
personality  commonly  denoted  as  the  woman  of  the 
world  has  not,  in  our  day,  been  better  portrayed;  and, 
as  a  general  judgment  on  play  and  performance,  it 
can  with  truth  be  said  that  Mr.  Mitchell  got  more  out 
of  the  book  of  "Vanity  Fair,"  for  dramatic  purposes, 
than  anybody  else  who  ever  touched  the  subject,  and 
that  Mrs.  Fiske  gave  to  one  of  the  most  truthful,  bril- 
liant, and  wonderful  creations  of  fiction  a  visible,  glit- 
tering, and  lasting  "form  and  pressure."  Her  success 
was  great.  The  general  representation  was  largely  com- 
posed of  fine  bits.  Raicdon  Crawley  was  finely  played 
by  Maurice  Barrymore,  who  gave  an  uncommonly 
touching  display  of  the  subduing  and  softening  effect 
of  love  upon  a  raw,  rough  nature.  Tyrone  Power 
incarnated  the  depravity  of  Lord  Steyne  with  grisly, 
eccentric  force  and,  whether  hovering  darkly  on  the 
fringes  of  the  festival  or  fiercely  urging  his  base  pas- 
sion, was  a  figure  of  gaunt,  grim  strength,  baleful  sig- 
nificance and  unspeakable  wickedness.  Mr.  Barry- 
more  had  not  before,  for  a  long  time,  done  such  ample 
justice  to  his  fine  powers.  Rawdon's  good-by  to  Becky, 
before  Waterloo;  his  reading  of  the  letter  from  his 
boy,  his  weakness  in  Becky's  hands,  his  terrible  anger 


286  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

and  misery  in  looking  on  her  disgrace, — in  each  of  these 
he  touched  the  heart.  Both  those  actors,  and  also 
Mrs.  Fiske,  especially  manifested  fine  artistic  instinct 
in  making  the  scene  of  the  exposure  and  the  punish- 
ment intense,  not  boisterous.  The  effect  of  horror,  of 
suffering,  of  veritable  tragedy  (for  each  participant 
suffers  in  a  different  and  poignant  way),  might  easily 
have  been  ruined.  The  impersonation  of  Jos.  Sedley 
by  William  F.  Owen  is  remembered  as  one  of  the  best 
studies  of  Thackeray  ever  presented.  The  redoubtable 
Jos.,  vain,  silly,  and  gluttonous  braggart  though  he  be, 
provides  the  chief  element  of  humor  in  "Vanity  Fair," 
and,  as  acted  by  Mr.  Owen,  he  furnished  much  of  the 
sunshine  of  "Becky  Sharp." 

"LEAH     KLESCHNA." 

In  the  Manhattan  Theatre,  New  York,  on  December 
12,  1904,  Mrs.  Fiske  achieved  a  remarkable  success 
and  added  a  new  character  not  only  to  her  repertory 
but  to  the  permanent  population  of  the  acted  drama. 
The  play,  written  by  C.  M.  S.  McLellan,  was  "Leah 
Kleschna"  (then  acted  for  the  first  time),  and  that  is 
also  the  name  of  the  central  character.  The  scene  is 
laid  mostly  in  Paris.  The  time  is  the  present.  The 
nomenclature, — which  might  have  been  improved, — is 
French  and  German.  The  play  is  entirely  original. 
Mr.  McLellan  has  emphatically  denied  that  any  other 
plays   exist   affording  a   basis   for   his   work.     Leah,  a 


THE    ACTING    OF    MRS.    FISKE         287 

young  woman  of  handsome  aspect  and  fine  nature,  is 
represented  as  the  daughter  of  a  professional  thief,  and 
as  having  been  trained,  by  him,  to  the  vocation  of  theft. 
In  the  practice  of  that  pernicious  industry  she  encoun- 
ters, under  peculiarly  interesting  circumstances,  a  good 
man,  who,  instead  of  delivering  her  to  the  ministry  of 
law,  shields  her  from  arrest,  saves  her  from  the  conse- 
quences of  her  crimes,  arouses  in  her  mind  the  latent 
impulse  to  virtue,  prompts  her  to  reform,  enables  her 
to  accomplish  her  moral  regeneration  and,  eventually, 
makes  her  his  wife.  That  good  man,  by  name  Paul 
Sylvaine,  designated  as  a  member  of  the  French 
Assembly,  announces  precisely  the  ethical  doctrine  of 
the  saintly  old  bishop  in  Victor  Hugo's  famous  novel, 
"Les  Miserables."  Total  depravity  does  not  exist. 
Human  nature  contains  more  good  than  evil.  Neither 
man  nor  woman  can  fall  so  far  as  to  pass  beyond  the 
possibility  of  redemption.  The  criminal,  no  matter  of 
what  variety,  is  always  susceptible  to  kind  treatment, 
and  always  can  be  reformed.  In  other  words,  Sylvaine 's 
posture  is  that  of  the  Christ-like  humanitarian  and 
reformer — a  sympathetic,  interesting,  and  laudable  pos- 
ture, but  one  that  can  be,  and  in  theatrical  depiction, 
as  well  as  in  life,  often  has  been,  pushed  to  extravagance. 
'  There  is  no  one,"  says  that  enthusiastic  statesman, 
"that  is  not  worth  rescuing,  and  there  is  no'  one  who 
cannot  be  rescued.  I  believe  in  every  one  of  us;  that 
every  one  of  us  is  a  part  of  truth;  and  the  thief  that 


288  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

conies  into  my  home  is  only  a  spectre  of  madness,  of 
unhappiness,  of  disease,  and  not  the  human  heing.  That 
spectre  cannot  destroy  my  faith.  Whatever  ugliness 
it  assumes,  I  know  it  is  a  lie  and  an  illusion.  It  only 
veils  the  soul,  the  universal  soul,  which  is  love,  and 
does  not  know  sin:  Love — but  lost  in  darkness;  the 
same  darkness  through  which  the  whole  world  is  strug- 
gling,— the  thief  a  little  more  helpless  than  the  rest." 
Part  of  this  sounds  like  hysterical  nonsense  to  any 
man  who  has  thoroughly  and  thoughtfully  read  the  his- 
tory of  the  nations  and  is  acquainted  with  the  authentic 
records  of  individual  crime;  but  such  views  are  hopeful, 
and  those  persons  who  choose  to  preach  are  wise  to  preach 
hope  rather  than  despair.  So  Tennyson  taught,  in 
words  never  to  be  forgotten: 

"Oh,  yet  we  trust  that  somehow  good 
Will  be  the  final  goal  of  ill, 
To  pangs  of  nature,  sins  of  will, 
Defects  of  doubt  and  taints  of  blood; 

"That  nothing  walks  with  aimless  feet, 
That  not  one  life  shall  be  destroyed, 
Or  cast  as  rubbish  to  the  void, 
When  God  hath  made  the  pile  complete."- 

In  a  play,  however,  seeing  that  a  play  should  not 
be  a  sermon,  the  better  way  to  deliver  a  moral  is  to 
suggest  it  by  deed,  and  not  to  impart  it  by  word.  Both 
methods  are  used  in  the  drama  of  "Leah  Kleschna,"  with 


THE    ACTING    OF    MRS.    FISKE         289 

the  result  that,  to  some  extent,  action  is  burdened  with 
didacticism;  and  didacticism,  in  a  play,  is  always  tedious. 
The  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  when  he  pardons  his  erring 
daughter  and  clasps  her  in  his  arms,  does  more,  in  that 
one  instant,  for  charity  and  virtue, — the  help  of  the 
weak  and  the  comfort  of  the  wretched, — than  he  could 
do  in  a  hundred  sermons.  The  ethics  of  "Leah 
Kleschna,"  though,  do  not  obscure  its  dramatic  values, 
and  the  public  had  not  seen  such  an  effective  piece,  of 
this  kind, — the  kind  in  which  stirring  incident  is  com- 
mingled with  moral  philosophy — since  the  distant  days 
of  "The  Ticket-of-Leave  Man,"  "It  Is  Never  Too 
Late  to  Mend,"  and  "Mary  Warner." 

Mrs.  Fiske  has,  from  time  to  time,  manifested  a 
peculiar  partiality  for  plays  of  an  ethical  and  didactic 
character;  that  is  to  say,  plays  that  aim  to  teach  moral 
lessons.  That  is  not  a  healthful  propensity.  There  is 
too  much  theatrical  solicitude  and  too  much  fussing 
about  Morality.  The  individual  who  will  attend  to  his 
own  morals  will  do  enough;  it  is  not  essential  that  he 
should  endeavor  to  regulate  the  morals  of  other  persons. 
Everybody  not  a  fool  knows  the  difference  between 
right  and  wrong,  and,  certainly,  the  theatrical  audience, 
in  general,  stands  in  no  need  of  information  as  to  either 
the  Revised  Statutes,  the  Ten  Commandments,  or  the 
Sermon  on  the  Mount.  The  notion  that  the s  Theatre 
is  expected  to  provide  moral  instruction  has  led,  in  our 
time,  to  a   theatrical   display   of  mental   obliquity   and 


290  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

physical  disease  in  comparison  with  which  the  gross, 
rubicund,  libidinous,  and  monstrous  plays  of  the  Res- 
toration are  innocence  itself;  Tor  the  dramatic  moralist 
thinks  that  he  is  at  perfect  liberty  to  exhibit  any  sort  of 
enormity  if  only,  after  three  hours  of  his  putrid  show, 
he  tells  you  to  avoid  evil.  Delirious  inebriates,  sick 
harlots,  humpbacked,  spavined,  pock-marked,  splay- 
footed, scorbutic  cranks,  male  and  female,  some  of 
them  from  France,  some  from  Norway,  some  from 
Germany,  some  from  Italy,  and — sad  to  say! — some 
from  England,  have  swarmed  over  our  Stage,  till,  at 
last,  it  has  sometimes  become  difficult  for  the  spectator 
to  determine  whether  he  is  in  a  theatre  or  a  hospital: 
and,  strangely  enough,  the  purveyors  of  this  tainted 
trash  proclaim  that  it  is  representative  of  Ideas!  It 
was  a  great  relief  therefore  when  Mrs.  Fiske  laid  aside 
her  assortment  of  Mag  das,  Gablers,  and  Crazy  Janes, 
and  chose  the  play  of  "Leah  Kleschna,"  for  she  acquired 
a  play  which,  though  to  some  extent  ethical,  is,  to  a 
greater  extent,  dramatic.  As  drama,  indeed,  the  play  is 
excellent.  The  plot,  while  simple,  is  substantial — pos- 
sessing a  body,  and  not  being  flimsily  composed  of 
"limbs  and  outward  flourishes";  the  situations  occur  in  a 
rational  sequence,  each  of  them  being  fraught  with  an 
atmosphere  of  suspense,  and  each  of  them  (until  the 
end  of  the  Fourth  Act),  as  to  dramatic  effect,  being 
stronger   than   its   predecessor;   the   incidents,   occurring 


THE    ACTING    OF    MRS.    FISKE         291 

rapidly,  are  such  as  surprise  but  do  not  mystify;  and 
the  principal  characters,  sharply  drawn,  are  such  as 
require  acting  and  provide  opportunity  for  it.  For 
Leah,  in  particular,  the  opportunity  is  spacious,  and 
Mrs.   Fiske  splendidly  improved  it. 

Two  thieves,  Kleschna  and  Schram,  together  with 
Leah,  the  daughter  of  Kleschna,  were  passengers  aboard 
the  steamship  Marseilles,  which  was  wrecked  and  lost, 
off  the  Italian  coast,  in  the  Mediterranean  Sea.  The 
passengers  embarked  in  a  lifeboat.  The  storm  was 
fierce.  The  captain  was  swept  overboard  and  drowned. 
One  of  the  imperilled  passengers  seized  the  boat's  helm: 
controlled  the  situation;  pacified  his  panic-stricken  com- 
panions in  danger,  and  effected  a  safe  landing.  That 
intrepid,  expeditious,  and  capably  executive  person  was 
Paul  Sylvaine,  member  of  the  French  Assembly,  and 
it  was  under  those  circumstances  that,  without  know- 
ing his  name,  Leah  Kleschna  first  saw  him.  A  year 
later,  in  Paris,  Kleschna  and  Schram  attempted  to  rob 
Sylvaine  of  his  family  jewels,  sending  Leah  into  his  house, 
at  dead  of  night,  to  commit  the  crime;  but  they  were 
baffled  by  Sylvaine's  discovery  of  the  thief  and  by 
Leah's  simultaneous  discovery  of  the  identity  of  Syl- 
vaine with  the  hero  of  the  shipwreck,  whom,  secretly, 
she  had  all  along  worshipped.  In  that  manner  they  met 
again;  and  from  this  meeting  ensued  the  dramatic  situa- 
tions that  make  the  play — a  play  that  is  edifying,  no 


292  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

doubt,  by  what  it  signifies  of  philanthropic  wisdom, 
hut  one  that  pleases  far  more  by  what  it  is  than  by  what 
it  means.  The  skill  with  which  Sylvaine,  in  his  mag- 
nanimous conduct,  is  at  first  apparently  compromised 
and  later  is  exonerated  is  particularly  admirable.  The 
fate  of  the  jewels, — which,  after  Leah  has  left  the 
home  of  Sylvaine,  are  stolen  by  Raoul  Berton,  a  dis- 
solute rascal,  brother  to  a  woman  whom  Sylvaine  has 
promised  to  marry, — and  the  fate  of  Kleschna  and 
Scliram  are  left  in  darkness:  but  a  superb  situation 
is  contrived  for  Leah  when  she  prevents  Sylvaine  from 
disclosing  to  Raoul' s  father  the  criminality  of  the  son; 
and  a  still  more  thrilling  situation  is  made  for  her 
when  she  breaks  away  from  her  criminal  associates, 
ingeniously  saving  them  at  the  same  time  when — in  a 
higher  sense — she  saves  herself.  The  drama  closes  with 
a  rural  picture  of  extraordinary  scenic  beauty. 

The  difficult  province  of  Mrs.  Fiske,  as  Leah,  was 
not  only  to  reveal  the  development  of  goodness  in  the 
girl's  temporarily  perverted  nature, — a  development  in 
part  prompted  by  native  impulse  and  in  part  fostered 
by  the  operation  of  secret  love  for  a  noble  ideal, — but 
also  to  animate  tumultuous  scenes  of  trial  .and  action, 
so  as  to  fill  them  with  emotion  and  make  them  live 
and  move.  The  part  is  fraught  with  fever  and  fluctua- 
tion, broken  with  warring  impulses,  vital  with  passion- 
ate feeling,  and  arduous  with  the  iron  necessity  of 
executive     promptitude.       The     actress     found     herself 


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THE    ACTING    OF    MRS.    FISKE         293 

absolutely  at  ease  in  it, — partly  because  it  is  lawless, — 
and  she  produced  a  moving  effect  of  nature,  because 
she  made  her  auditors  feel  and  understand  how  hard 
this  world  is  for  the  outcast  and  through  what  a  ter- 
rible ordeal  the  sinner  must  pass, — the  poor  soul  who, 
whether  from  innate  propensity  or  extraneous  com- 
pulsion, has  once  gone  wrong  but  would  like  to  go  right. 
The  brittle  articulation  and  rising  inflections  char- 
acteristic of  her  habitual  speech  were  a  help  rather  than 
a  hindrance,  in  this  eccentric,  kaleidoscopic  part,  and 
her  passionate  impetuosity  thrilled  every  fibre  of  it. 
In  Leah's  ultimate  defiance  of  Kleschna  and  in  the 
conquest  of  his  brute  strength  by  her  moral  supremacy 
and  spiritual  fervor  she  rose  to  a  noble  height  of 
powerful  feeling  and  carried  the  scene  to  a  magnificent 
climax.  The  action  ended  there.  A  pastoral  beatitude 
occurred  at  the  close,  pictorial,  not  dramatic,  and  there- 
fore tame. 

The  several  more  important  parts  were  judiciously 
cast;  and  the  occasion  was  made  exceptionally  interest- 
ing by  the  association  of  such  able  actors  as  Mrs.  Fiske, 
John  Mason,  George  Arliss,  and  Charles  Cartwright. 
Kleschna  is  an  intellectual,  resolute,  formidable  ruffian, 
of  the  class  that  is  well  typified  by  Balzac's  Autrin,  in 
"Pere  Goriot":  not  such  a  consummate  scoundrel  and 
not  as  splendidly  drawn;  but  a  potent  villain,  one  who 
is  accustomed  to  read  and  think;  one  who  has  persuaded 
himself   that    all    men    are    rascals,    and    that    when    he 


294  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

steals  the  property  of  another  person  he  is  only  doing 
with  the  secret  hand  what  all  other  men  would  do 
openly,  opportunity  afforded,  on  "business  principles." 
Still  more,  he  is  the  kind  of  man  who  would  stop  at 
nothing  to  accomplish  his  object.  Schram  is  a  weaker 
villain,  kinder  and  more  inclined  to  vacillation.  The 
most  loathsome  type  of  evil  is  Raoul  Bert  on,  a  vile 
sensualist,  mean,  cowardly,  vulgar,  completely  depraved. 
Mr.  Arliss  acted  that  part  and  made  it  painfully  actual 
and  sadly  true,  passing  through  the  sharply  contrasted 
moods  of  jaunty  impudence,  mean  cunning,  comic  levity, 
viperish  rage,  and  hysterical,  abject  fear.  Mr.  Cart- 
wright  impersonated  Kleschna  and  well  expressed  the 
hardened,  cynical  criminal,  in  whom,  nevertheless,  there 
are  latent  manliness,  human  feeling,  and  the  potentiality 
of  heroism.  It  was,  in  fact,  the  complete  embodiment  of 
a  resolute,  intellectual  man,  possessing  courage  and  skill, 
but  deficient  of  moral  sense  and  strengthened  in  evil 
propensity  by  bitter  resentment  of  social  injustice.  The 
spectacle  presented,  all  the  w7orld  over,  of  poverty,  hard- 
ship, and  vice  has  turned  many  brains  and  made  many 
bandits.  Kleschna  has  that  mental  twist,  and  Mr.  Cart- 
wright's  personation  was  at  once  illuminating  and 
afflictive.  Mr.  Mason,  as  Sylvaine,  presented  a  fine 
image  of  gentle  feeling,  dignity,  reticence,  and  exquisite 
grace  of  manner.  Intellectual  poise,  compassionate 
feeling,  and  moral  enthusiasm  could  not  be  expressed 
with  a  greater  show,  or  a  greater  effect,  of  sincerity. 


THE    ACTING    OF    MRS.    FISKE         295 

"HEDDA     GABLER." 

All  persons  are,  in  one  sense,  diseased  and  hastening 
toward  the  grave.  In  some  cases  the  disease  is  known 
and  named,  and  the  time  of  the  inevitable  obsequies 
can  be  predicted  with  approximate  precision.  In 
other  cases  the  disease  is  incipient,  and  hope  fluctuates 
as  to  the  probable  arrival  of  the  final  catastrophe. 
But  there  is  no  doubt  as  to  either  the  present  condition 
or  the  ultimate  result.  All  flesh  is  grass;  all  grass  will 
be  cut  down,  dried  up,  and,  necessarily,  withered;  and, 
sooner  or  later,  the  universal  hay  crop  will  be  gath- 
er' d  in. 

"You  are  bones,  and  what  of  that? 

Every  face,  however  full, 
Padded  round  with  flesh  and  fat, 

Is  but  modelled  on  a  skull." 

Those  remarkably  sapient  views  were,  in  general, 
the  views  of  the  late  Mr.  Ibsen,  of  Norway,  and  those 
views, — with  others,  about  hereditary  disease,  original 
sin,  miscellaneous  humbug,  and  taxes, — he  was  at  great 
pains  to  divulge,  in  a  series  of  plays,  some  of  which  are 
nasty  and  all  of  which  are  ponderous  and  dull.  Mrs. 
Fiske,  at  the  Manhattan  Theatre,  New  York,  on  Octo- 
ber 5,  1905,  produced  one  of  those  dreary  compositions 
(a  tolerably  clean  one),  called  "Hedda  Gabler,"  and 
acted  the  principal  character  in  it.  That  character, 
Mrs.    Tesman,    is    sick.      Functional    derangement    has 


296  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

disordered  her  brain  and  destroyed  her  moral  sense. 
She  is  vain,  selfish,  malicious;  a  thief,  a  liar,  a  traitor; 
she  exults  in  cruelty  and  depravity;  and, — figuring 
through  a  series  of  inexpressibly  tiresome  colloquies, — 
she  closes  a  life  of  hypocrisy  and  guilt  by  the  crime 
of  suicide.  A  nastier  little  female  reptile  has  not  been 
depicted,  even  by  Ibsen, — "whose  spirits  toil  in  frame 
of  villanies,"  and  whose  whole  fabric  of  dramatic  writ- 
ing is  a  pollution  to  the  Stage,  a  wearisome  burden 
upon  contemporary  thought,  a  darkness  to  the  eyes  of 
hope,  and  a  blight  to  everything  that  it  can  touch  of 
nobility,  beauty,  and  joy.  Perhaps  such  persons  as 
Hedda  Gabler  exist:  the  Lunatic  Asylum  is  the  place 
for  them;  not  the  Theatre.  Mrs.  Fiske  presented  that 
ailing  and  eccentric  female  in  a  manner  to  awaken 
solicitude,  and  with  an  elocution  irresistibly  suggestive 
of  an  additional  "b"  in  the  middle  of  her  surname. 
Early  in  the  depressing  services  it  became  obvious  that 
Hedda  had  made  a  mistake  in  marrying  Professor  Tes- 
man  and  that  the  society  of  that  respectable  scientific 
ass  had  become  almost  intolerable  to  her.  Later  it  was 
observed  that  she  became  experimental  and  analytic, 
and  that  she  wanted,  in  particular,  to  diversify  exis- 
tence by  making  mischief.  To  this  end  she  insulted  her 
husband's  aunt;  flirted  with  the  tax  man;  badgered  a 
fugacious  female  who  had  sought  her  help  and  protec- 
tion; tempted  a  former  sweetheart  of  her  own  to  get 
drunk  and  go  to  ruin;  stole  that  lover's  precious  manu- 


THE    ACTING    OF    MRS.    FISKE         297 

script  and  put  it  in  the  fire;  goaded  him  to  desperation 
by  her  ironical  taunts,  and  armed  him  with  a  pistol  with 
which  to  shoot  himself:  and,  finally,  when  no  more  devil- 
try seemed  to  be  feasible,  played  a  piano  and  shot  her- 
self. All  this  from  mere  wanton  jealousy  that  anybody 
else  should  be  happy! 

The  play  of  "Hedda  Gabler"  is  a  long-winded,  col- 
loquial exposition  of  disease,  and  its  heroine  is  an  insane 
cat.  No  other  phrase  can  as  well  describe  such  a  mon- 
strous union  of  vanity  and  depravity.  Some  excellent 
acting  was  done  in  the  presentment  of  this  vicious  and 
depressing  picture  of  dulness  and  morbid,  mad-house 
wickedness.  Mrs.  Fiske,  indeed,  considerably  exag- 
gerated her  icy,  piercing,  stridulous,  staccato  speech,  but 
she  has  the  talent  of  sarcasm,  and  can  say  heartless  words 
in  a  way  to  bite  the  sense  of  hearing  and  almost  to 
sting  the  heart.  Her  performance  was  remarkably 
effective, — being  mordant  with  sarcasm,  keen  with  irony, 
dreadful  with  suggestion  of  watchful  wickedness,  and 
bright  with  vicious  eccentricity.  Not  long  before  her 
first  production  of  "Hedda  Gabler"  Mrs.  Fiske,  in  writ- 
ing about  Henrik  Ibsen,  condemned  that  author,  in 
terms  no  less  trenchant  than  true, — declaring,  in  a  New 
York  magazine,  that  Ibsen  "by  his  example  as  well  as 
by  his  work,  has  almost  banished  beauty,  nobility,  pict- 
uresqueness,  and  poetry  from  the  Stage,"  and  that 
"some  of  us  must  believe  that  his  influence  on  the  whole 
of  the  contemporary  drama  has  been  baneful."     That 


-- 


298  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

being  the  fact,  and  that  fact  being  recognized  by  the 
actress,  it  seemed  a  little  singular  that  Mrs.  Fiske 
should  contribute  to  a  possible  extension  of  a  "baneful" 
influence  by  producing  and  acting  in  Ibsen's  plays. 
But  it  is  lovely  woman's  inalienable  right  to  be  incon- 
sistent. Her  exploit,  however,  in  producing  Ibsen's 
plays  has  amply  substantiated  her  condemnation  of 
them.  There  is,  surely,  enough  good  in  human  nature, 
enough  romance  in  human  experience,  enough  beauty 
in  the  natural  world,  whereon  to  base  a  drama  of  loveli- 
ness and  light:  and,  surely,  it  is  neither  unreasonable 
nor  unkind  to  hold  that  a  woman  of  genius,  like  Mrs. 
Fiske,  has  no  need  to  stoop  to  the  baneful  drama  of 
feculence,  prolixity,  depression,  and  disease, — the  drama 
that  banishes  poetry,  beauty,  and  nobility  from  the 
Stage,  the  drama  of  crack-brained  pessimists  or  charla- 
tans, made  of  "all  that  is  at  enmity  with  joy." 

"ROSMERSHOLM." 

It  was  Mme.  Modjeska  who  introduced  the  Ibsen 
drama  to  the  American  Stage,  she  having  brought  out 
"The  Doll's  House,"  under  the  name  of  "Helma,"  at 
one  of  the  provincial  theatres  in  1883,  but  Mrs.  Fiske 
has  done  more  than  any  other  performer  to  make  the 
Ibsen  drama  temporarily  current  and  to  invest  it  with 
at  least  an  appearance  of  stability, — her  exceptional 
intellectual  force,  power  of  will,  originality  of  char- 
acter,  and  steadfast  persistence  having  enabled  her  to 


THE    ACTING    OF    MRS.    FISKE        299 

excel  competition  in  the  display  of  Ibsen's  erratic 
heroines.  Her  impersonation  of  Rebecca  West,  in 
"Rosmersholm,"  which  was  shown  at  the  Lyric  Theatre, 
on  December  30,  1907,  manifested  the  same  resolute 
personality,  morbid  temperament,  and  perverse  obliquity 
of  conduct  that  she  had  previously  revealed  in  Hedda 
Gabler. 

Ibsen  probably  intended  that  "Rosmersholm"  should 
convey  a  meaning,  but,  if  so,  his  intention  was  not  ful- 
filled. The  translator  of  the  play  intimated  the  opinion 
that  it  is  a  picture  of  antagonism  of  political  parties  in  the 
kingdom  of  Sweden  and  Norway,  that  one  of  its  char- 
acters, a  schoolmaster  named  Kroll,  typifies  the  bitter- 
ness of  defeated  conservatism,  while  another,  a  sleek 
radical  editor,  typifies  downy,  crafty,  self-seeking 
democracy.  The  more  explicit  press  agent,  on  the 
contrary,  declared  it  to  be  expositive  of  the  love  of 
John  Rosmer  and  Rebecca  West.  Neither  of  those 
theories,  nor  the  perusal  of  the  piece  nor  the  perform- 
ance of  it,  availed  to  illuminate  Ibsen's  darker  purpose. 
Mrs.  Fiske  was  said  to  have  expressed  the  conviction 
that  a  right  understanding  of  this  profound  subject 
can  only  be  acquired  in  about  three  years  of  study;  but, 
since  life  is  short  and  time  fleeting,  the  alternative  of 
the  commentator  must  be  a  resort  to  the  facts  as  they 
dimly  appear  on  the  surface. 

The  play  of  "Rosmersholm"  is  comprised  in  four  acts 
and  is  written  in  prose.    The  scene  is  the  mansion  of  an 


300  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

ancient,  respectable  family  named  Rosmer, — a  home 
situated  near  a  small  town,  on  the  western  seacoast  of 
Norway.  The  colloquy  is  carried  on  by  six  persons, 
all  of  whom  speak  alike,  and  all  speak  like  Ibsen, — no 
one  of  them  possessing  distinctiveness  of  verbal  expres- 
sion. There  is  not  even  a  remote  semblance  of  action 
in  any  of  the  four  scenes.  The  purpose  seems  to  be  a 
presentment  of  a  domestic  situation,  and  that  present- 
ment is  accomplished  by  talk.  In  the  course  of  several 
conversations  it  is  made  known  that  John  Rosmer, 
owner  of  Rosmersholm,  and  the  last  of  his  race,  has 
been  a  clergyman,  but  has  left  the  Church  and  become 
a  free-thinker:  also  that  he  is  a  widower,  and  that 
Rebecca  West,  a  young  woman  of  "advanced  ideas,"  is, 
and  for  some  time  has  been,  resident  in  his  mansion. 
Intimation  is  afforded  that  Rebecca  West's  views  and 
proceedings,  as  an  "emancipated  woman," — superior  to 
the  restrictions  commonly  imposed  and  observed  by  her 
sex, — are  attributable  to  "moral  antecedents,"  that  is  to 
say,  heredity,  she  being  the  illegitimate  child  of  a  doctor 
named  West  and  a  nurse  named  Samvik.  The  relation 
in  which  Rebecca  West  stands  toward  the  emancipated 
Rosmer  is  not  precisely  defined.  His  purpose,  as  stated 
by  himself,  is  to  awaken  the  democracy  of  his"  neighbor- 
hood to  the  task  of  making  all  the  people  of  Norway 
and  Sweden  noble,  by  freeing  their  minds  and  purifying 
their  wills, — a  task,  seemingly,  of  some  magnitude. 
Her  purpose  is  to  capture  him;  and  yet,  when  the  man 


THE    ACTING    OF    MRS.    FISKE         301 

proposes  marriage,  she  declines  his  offer.  Something 
is  said  about  her  having  introduced  into  the  Rosmer 
mansion  a  book  about  "the  rationale  of  marriage, 
according  to  the  advanced  ideas  of  the  day" — whatever 
those  may  be, — and  presently  her  testimony  communi- 
cates the  information  that  she  has  schemed  to  ingratiate 
herself  with  Rosmer  and  his  wife  and  to  become  an 
inmate  of  their  home;  that  she  has  been,  for  a  time,  con- 
sumed with  "a  wild,  uncontrollable  desire," — "like  a 
storm  on  the  sea," — a  "horrible,  sense-intoxicated 
desire,"  for  Rosmer;  that  she  has,  by  either  direct  state- 
ment or  implication,  caused  Mrs.  Rosmer  to  believe 
her  husband  unfaithful,  insinuating,  indeed,  that  con- 
sequences of  his  suggested  liaison  with  herself,  ruinous 
to  reputation,  were  imminent,  and  thus  driving  the 
miserable  wife  to  insanity  and  suicide, — Mrs.  Rosmer 
having  "effaced  herself"  by  jumping  into  a  mill- 
race. 

In  brief,  "Rosmersholm,"  as  it  appears  to  the  eyes 
of  common  sense,  is  a  long  and  tedious  dialogue,  relative 
to  a  deplorable  case  of  domestic  trouble,  sequent  on 
the  weakness  of  a  vain,  feather-headed  man  and  the 
selfish  strength  of  a  visionary,  addle-headed  woman. 
dlrs.  Rosmer  having  miserably  perished  by  suicide,  her 
surviving  brother,  Kroll,  is  perplexed  to  observe  that 
Rosmer  and  Rebecca  West  are  dwelling  -  in  the 
Rosmer  home,  in  the  fullest  intimacy,  and,  being  wish- 
ful to  avert  a  scandal,  he  desires  and  recommends  that 


302  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

their  relation,  whatever  it  is,  shall  be  "legalized." 
Rosmer  is  not  only  willing  but  desirous  to  marry 
Rebecca,  but  Rebecca  shies  at  matrimony.  What  does 
it  all  mean?  It  all  means  nothing:  or  else  it  means 
that  Rebecca's  mind  is  unbalanced.  What  else  can  it 
mean?  There  is,  indeed,  in  the  remarks  made  by 
Rosmer  and  by  Rebecca,  much  mystic  deliverance  as  to 
"perfect  emancipation"  and  as  to  marching  on  in  "free- 
dom, side  by  side."  "I  knew  no  scruples,"  cries 
Rebecca;  "I  stood  in  awe  of  no  human  relation": — 
obviously,  when  she  was  plotting  and  lying  to  supplant 
another  woman  in  the  affection  of  her  husband,  and 
driving  that  poor  creature  to  madness  and  self-murder! 
"Our  bond  has  been  a  spiritual  marriage,"  says  Rosmer 
to  Rebecca.  "I  will  devote  my  life,  and  all  my  energies, 
to  the  creation  of  a  true  democracy  in  this  country": 
"I  have  emancipated  myself  entirely,  and  on  every 
side."  "I  was  sure  I  could  never  reach  you,"  says 
Rebecca,  "till  you  were  a  free  man,  both  in  circum- 
stances and  in  mind."  "Morality,"  says  Rosmer,  "is 
an  instinctive  law  among  the  unbelieving  and  the 
emancipated."  The  unenlightened  Kroll,  on  the  con- 
trary, insinuates  the  opinion  that  "there  is  no  unfathom- 
able gulf  between  free  thought  and  free  love." 

Beneath  this  perplexing  set  of  circumstances  and 
beneath  these  diverse  and  flatulent  sentiments  there 
appears  to  be  a  lurking  suggestion  that  love  and  mar- 
riage    are     conditions     to     be    ignored     and     avoided. 


THE    ACTING    OF    MRS.    FISKE         303 

Rebecca  states  to  Rosmer,  "I  have  a  past  behind  me" 
(it  could  not  be  anywhere  else),  and  that  she  has  lost 
her  "innocence"  and  never  can  recover  it;  whereupon 
Rosmer  states  to  Rebecca  that  unless  she  will  at  once 
jump  overboard  and  drown  herself,  as  his  wife  Beat  a 
did,  for  his  sake,  he  cannot  believe  that  her  mind  has 
been  ennobled  by  his  influence  or  recover  his  faith  in 
his  mission  to  ennoble  human  souls.  This  would  seem 
to  imply  that  complete  "emancipation"  is  to  be  obtained 
only  by  drowning,  a  process  which  appears,  indeed, 
to  be  effectual  and  which,  obviously,  is  final.  Rebecca 
assents  to  that  method  of  exit,  and  Rosmer  is  so  much 
pleased  that  he  proposes  to  make  the  plunge  in  her 
company:  "The  husband  shall  go  with  his  wife,"  he 
saj^s,  "as  the  wife  with  her  husband."  "Yes,"  says 
Rebecca;  "but  just  tell  me  this — is  it  you  who  go  with 
me,  or  is  it  I  who  go  with  you?"  That  conundrum 
remains  unanswered.  Both  those  eccentric  persons 
jump  into  the  millrace  and  perish,  and  that  is  the  grand 
catastrophe  of  the  conference. 

It  may  be  great  drama:  it  has  every  appearance  of 
being  great  rubbish.  No  one  of  the  persons  involved 
in  its  prolixity  of  conversation  exhibits  even  a  single 
interesting  attribute  of  character.  Rosmer,  in  actual 
life,  would  be  an  insufferable  prig, — about  as  distinctive 
and  piquant  as  a  box  of  candles.  Kroll  would  be  incar- 
nate commonplace.  Mortengore,  an  editor,  would  be  a 
fovy   hack,    mean    in    nature    and    furtive    in    conduct. 


304  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

Bremdelj — who  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  piece,  except 
to  make  it  longer, — would  be  a  boorish,  half-crazy  tramp. 
Mme.  Hcldeth  is  a  nonentity.  As  to  Rebecca  West — 
she  may  be  a  genius;  she  seems  to  be  a  crank.  Mrs. 
Fiske, — possessing  great  vitality,  profound  earnestness, 
and  the  art  that  can  make  nonsense  glitter, — infused 
so  much  of  herself  into  her  embodiment  of  this  lune 
that  she  impressed  the  mind  with  a  sense  of  reality,  and 
even,  at  some  moments,  awakened  the  feelings.  There 
can  be  no  doubt  of  the  existence  of  unhappy  homes  and 
of  miserable  persons  in  them;  no  doubt  that  treacher- 
ous women,  or  women  surcharged  with  "missions,"  or 
women  infatuated  with  men,  do  invade  peaceful  family 
circles  and  disrupt  them,  but  it  is  not  possible  to 
perceive  that  any  good  can  come  of  a  description  of 
such  proceedings,  in  a  concoction  that  is  neither  play 
nor  treatise,  that  is  merciless  in  prolixity,  that  shows 
neither  facile  construction  nor  beauty  of  style,  that  says 
nothing  and  ends  nowhere. 

Mrs.  Fiske's  impersonation  of  Rebecca  West  was 
symmetrical,  but  the  part  did  not  afford  to  her  any  con- 
siderable opportunity.  Her  delivery  of  Rebeccas  con- 
fession of  deceit  and  cruelty  toward  Mrs.  Rosmer  was 
spoken  in  a  vein  of  intense  passion.  Mr.  McRae,  as 
Rosmer,  appeared  oblivious  of  the  fact  that  terrible 
mental  conflict  and  long-continued  suffering  record 
themselves  in  the  countenance  and  demeanor.  Mr. 
Fuller   Mellish,    as   Kroll,   dominated    the   performance 


THE    ACTING    OF    MRS.    FISKE         305 

by  virtue  of  prosaic  force,  or  perhaps  because  he  had 
more  to  say  than  anybody  else,  and  said  it  with  incessant 
vocal  vigor.  George  Arliss,  in  a  style  reminiscent  of 
Henry  Irving,  provided  a  striking  sketch  of  a  flam- 
boyant, garrulous  charlatan,  a  sort  of  Alfred  Jingle, 
touched  with  the  delirium  of  a  sottish  genius.  The 
colloquies  were  well  delivered,  and  all  was  done  for 
the  piece  that  zeal  and  taste  could  do:  but  it  is  a  bleak, 
dreary,  obscure  composition,  and  one  that  only  the 
enthusiasts  of  Ibsen  could  endure. 

"SALVATION  NELL." 

The  desire  of  Mrs.  Fiske  has  long  been  evident  to 
exercise  a  direct,  practical,  humanitarian  influence  in 
social  affairs.  At  one  time  her  effort  was  directed 
toward  compelling  compassionate  treatment  of  cattle, 
when  in  process  of  transportation  by  railroad.  At 
another  she  sent  forth  a  pamphlet  on  vivisection, 
denouncing  it  as  a  national  disgrace.  In  several  plays, 
—"Little  Italy,"  "Leah  Kleschna,"  and  "Mary  of 
Magdala,"  among  others, — she  evinced  her  active  sym- 
pathy with  afflicted,  suffering,  repentant  woman;  woman 
enthralled  by  cruel,  fateful  circumstances,  or  degraded 
by  weakness  and  passion,  or  soiled  by  sin,  or  in  the 
seemingly  hopeless  tangle  of  consequences,  tormented  by 
conscience  and  wildly  wishful  for  atonement  and  peace. 
The  philanthropic  propensity  of  her  mind  and  the  nat- 
ural drift  of  her  endeavor, — a  drift  toward  the  improve- 


306  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

ment  of  social  conditions, — were  especially  manifested 
in  her  performance  of  Nell  Sanders,  in  the  play  called 
"Salvation  Nell,"  by  Mr.  Edward  Sheldon,  which  she 
gave,  for  the  first  time,  in  New  York  at  the  Hackett 
Theatre,  November  17,  1008,  where  it  was  received  with 
much  more  interest  and  toleration  than  it  deserved. 
The  play,  judging  from  its  ecstasy  of  moral  enthusiasm, 
seemed  to  have  been  inspired  by  the  actress  herself, 
for  it  moves  in  the  line  of  her  habitual  thought  and 
feeling  on  the  subject  of  social  abuses;  but,  however 
that  may  be,  Mrs.  Fiske  animated  it  with  the  passion- 
ate fervor  of  her  glowing  human  spirit,  and  even  its 
temporary  acceptance  was  mainly  attributable  not  to 
its  moral  persuasion  but  to  the  force  of  the  actress's 
personality.  As  a  drama  it  indicates  a  long  ancestry, 
inclusive  of  "Oliver  Twist,"  "The  Ticket-of-Leave 
Man,"  "It's  Never  Too  Late  To  Mend,"  "Mary  War- 
ner" and  so  forth, — not  at  all  resembling  them  in  fabri- 
cation or  texture,  for  those  are  plays  and  "Salvation 
Nell"  is  rubbish,  but  being  compact  of  ingredients  of 
coarse  humanity  and  low  life,  and  feebly  instinct  with 
a  moral  purpose.  The  dramatist,  following  a  beaten 
track,  treated  a  coarse  subject  in  an  exceedingly  coarse, 
thoroughly  amateurish  manner,  making  sufficiently  faith- 
ful copies  of  actual  scenes  and  suggesting  charity  as  the 
highest  of  all  virtues  and  the  first  of  all  duties.  Justice 
to  all  is  the  cornerstone  of  the  social  fabric,  but  there 
is  no  sin  that  cannot  be  forgiven  and  no  sinner  that 


THE  ACTING  OF  MRS.  FISKE  307 

cannot  be  redeemed;  not  novel  propositions,  though 
irreproachable,  and  not  propositions  of  intrinsically 
authoritative  dramatic  value. 

The  story  of  the  play  is  trite;  the  language  of  it  is 
an  attenuated  tissue  of  silliness,  slang,  vulgarity,  pro- 
fanity, and  argot.  Nell  Sanders  and  Jim  Piatt, — the 
one  a  drudge,  the  other  a  vagrant,  both  denizens  of  a 
slum  in  New  York, — are  "pals."  The  man  bullies  the 
woman,  and  the  woman,  because  she  loves  him,  submits 
to  his  brutality.  There  is  a  germ  of  goodness  in  each 
of  them.  Nell  is  affronted  in  a  bar-room  and  a  fight 
ensues,  in  which  Jim  Piatt  stabs  his  opponent  in  the 
eyes  with  his  ringers,  so  blinding  and  horribly  injuring 
him.  Jim  is  arrested.  Nell,  about  to  become  a  mother, 
is  prevented,  by  a  Salvation  Army  worker,  from  becom- 
ing an  inmate  of  a  brothel.  Jim  is  sent  to  prison  for  the 
crime  of  murderous  assault.  Nell  is  spiritually  awak- 
ened, and  she  becomes  a  member  of  the  Salvation  Army, 
— zealous,  industrious,  and  exemplary.  She  is  a  mother. 
Eight  years  pass.  The  father  of  her  boy  comes  out 
of  prison  and  again  seeks  her  society.  Experience  in 
prison  has  made  him  a  worse  ruffian  than  ever.  He 
purposes  to  obtain  money  by  stealing  it,  and  he  asks 
Nell  to  migrate  with  him — and  his  plunder — into  the 
West.  That  she  declines  to  do,  and  he  is  repudiated 
and  repelled;  but,  after  much  irrelevant  twaddle,  the 
regenerating  influence  of  love,  which  has  redeemed  the 
woman,    eventually   proves   potent    for   the    redemption 


308  THE  WALLET  OF  TIME 

of  the  man,  and  Nell  and  Jim   are  united  in  religious 
faith  and  a  prospect  of  domestic  happiness. 

Mrs.  Fiske,  whose  early  success,  as  an  actress,  was 
gained  in  demure,  mischievous,  sparkling  characters, 
the  piquant  sporters  of  rattling  light  comedy,  has  moved 
through  a  wide  range  of  parts,  and,  in  particular,  she 
has  evinced  copious  resources  of  emotional  energy.  The 
part  of  Nell  Sanders, — called  Salvation  Nell  after  she 
has  joined  the  Army  of  Blood  and  Fire, — obviously 
makes  no  demand  on  the  imagination.  Mrs.  Fiske's 
performance  of  it  was  a  photographic  study — as 
such,  the  best  performance  of  her  career.  Nell 
is  carried  through  a  series  of  situations,  such  as 
are  incident  to  vulgarity  of  condition  and  occu- 
pation and  to  an  environment  of  dirt,  blackguard- 
ism, vice,  and  crime.  Provision  is  made  (and  it  is 
entirely  easy,  in  the  concoction  of  slum  dramas,  to 
make  that  provision)  for  a  few  moments  of  tumultuous 
feeling,  whether  of  animal  rage  or  religious  frenzy,  and 
in  all  those  moments  Mrs.  Fiske  was  finely  impas- 
sioned and  effective,  her  method,  then  as  ever,  com- 
mingling impetuous  volubility  with  intensity  of  repressed 
emotion.  It  was,  however,  as  a  whole,  a  .melancholy 
exhibition,  except  to  those  persons  who  like  to  have 
their  minds  dragged  through  the  gutter  and  drenched 
with  the  slime  of  the  brothel  and,  incidentally,  observe 
a  brilliant  actress  making  a  deplorable  misuse  of  her 
fine  faculties  and  great  opportunity. 


IX. 

THE  SACRED  LABORS  OF  OLGA  NETHERSOLE. 

"SAPHO"  AND  "THE  LABYRINTH." 

In  the  absence  of  positive  knowledge  to  the  contrary, 
or  of  conclusive  testimony, — the  "imputation  and  strong 
circumstances  which  lead  directly  to  the  door  of  truth," 
— it  seems  fair  to  assume,  regarding  purveyors  of  the- 
atrical punk,  that,  however  mischievous  their  ministra- 
tions may  be,  their  motives  are  honest.  Mrs.  Lander, 
who  introduced  "Camille"  to  our  Stage,  was  one  of 
the  best  of  women,  and  her  purpose,  beyond  a  shadow 
of  doubt,  was  beneficent.  It  is,  perhaps,  just  to  believe 
the  same  concerning  Miss  Olga  Nethersole,  but  it  is 
difficult,  almost  to  the  extent  of  impossibility.  At  times 
the  attitude  of  that  performer  has  been  such  as  to 
prompt  belief  of  a  desire  to  identify  herself,  exclusively, 
with  characters  of  degeneracy  and  plays  of  morbid 
delirium,  because  her  repertory  has  been,  in  some 
respects,  one  as  pernicious  as  could  have  been  devised, 
even  with  deliberate  purpose  to  corrupt  the  public  mind. 
Miss  Nethersole  made  her  first  appearance  on  the 
American  Stage,  at  Palmer's  Theatre,  on  October   15, 

1894,  in  Mr.  A.  W.  Gattie's  "The  Transgressor,"  and 

309 


310  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

she  has  ever  since  devoted  herself  largely  to  theatrical 
parade  of  transgressors,  erring  sisters,  and  episodes  of 
vice.  The  principal  decent  plays  of  her  repertory  are 
"Romeo  and  Juliet,"  "Adrienne  Lecouvreur,"  and  "The 
Termagant."  She  has  been  conspicuously  identified 
with  "Camille,"  "Frou-Frou,"  "Carmen,"  "The  Sec- 
ond Mrs.  Tanqueray,"  'The  Notorious  Mrs.  Ebbsmith," 
"Magda,"  "The  Labyrinth,"  and  "The  Enigma."  The 
public,  subjected  to  that  flux  of  offensive  plays,  might 
well  exclaim,  with  old  Lear:  "Give  me  an  ounce  of  civet, 
good  apothecary,  to  sweeten  my  imagination!"  Rep- 
resentative personations  by  Miss  Nethersole  were  those 
of  the  trollop  called  Sapho,  in  a  play  of  that  name, 
and  Marianne,  in  "The  Labyrinth,"  by  M.  Paul 
Hervieu. 

Much  benevolent  theatrical  industry  has  been  enlisted 
in  the  dissemination  of  "views"  and  "precepts"  as  to 
control  of  animal  propensities  and  as  to  conduct  of  the 
amatory  affairs  of  mankind,  and  many  estimable  dames, 
together  with  some  who  were  more  notorious  than 
estimable,  have  made  devout  efforts  in  that  sacred  cause, 
largely  to  the  edification  of  a  grateful  public  and  much 
to  the  emolument  of  those  moral  missionaries.  In 
England  and  America  the  refulgent  Mrs.  "Pat"  Camp- 
bell and  the  illustrious  Mrs.  Kendal  have  shown  the 
piteous  woes  and  the  corrosive  virtues  of  the  torrid 
Mrs.  Tanqueray,  from  whose  seductive  personality  les- 
sons  of   rectitude   radiate  like   the   spokes   of   a   wheel. 


OLGA    NETHERSOLE  311 

Mrs.  Leslie  Carter,  formerly  of  Chicago,  has  perfumed 
the  Theatre  with  the  pious  patchouly  of  Zaza.  The 
revered  Mme.  Bernhardt  has  diffused  general  informa- 
tion as  to  the  blandishments  of  Izeyl  and  the  result  of 
their  exercise.  The  all-fascinating  Duse,  assuming  the 
everlasting  French  courtesan  with  the  interminable 
cough,  has  broken  the  public  heart  and  "drowned  the 
stage  with  tears."  Others,  too  numerous  to  mention, 
have  wrought  in  the  same  vineyard  of  eleemosynary 
labor,  and  with  like  results,  and  it  is  not  the  fault  of 
the  Theatre  if  Society  has  not  become  fully  and  finally 
convinced  that  there  is  no  difference  between  virtue  and 
vice;  that  woman  ought,  naturally,  to  become  licentious 
for  the  reason  that  men  are  naturally  depraved;  that 
strumpet  and  saint  are  interchangeable  terms;  that, 
with  the  exception  of  leather,  there  is  nothing  like 
"love,"  and  that  the  kingdom  of  heaven  is  at  hand. 

On  February  5,  1900,  at  Wallack's  Theatre,  New 
York,  Miss  Nethersole  made  a  new  and  more  than 
usually  strenuous  effort  in  the  holy  work  of  moral 
illumination,  imparting  unto  the  young  men  of  this 
period  the  salutary  monition  that  the  society  of  drabs 
ought  to  be  avoided,  and  that  the  path  of  sensual  vice 
is  a  downward  path,  leading,  through  torment,  to  the 
gates  of  hell.  The  novelty  of  that  impartment  was  not 
likely  to  startle  any  male  person  who  had  ever  attended 
a  Sunday  School  or  made  even  a  passing  acquaint- 
ance  with    the    Book    of    Proverbs;    but    for    observers 


312  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

possessed  of  a  steacty  stomach  it  was  a  blessed  privilege 
to  observe  the  zeal  of  Miss  Nethersole,  and  it  was  a 
comfort  to  know  that  a  woman  so  energetic  and  per- 
sistent was  active  in  the  guardianship  of  the  public 
morals  and  had  resolutely  undertaken  to  lead  the  gilded 
and  mildewed  youth  of  America  in  the  way  that  they 
should  go.  With  the  bewitching  Mrs.  Langtry,  in 
'The  Degenerates,"  at  one  end  of  the  line,  to  show 
how  good  a  thing  it  is  and  how  becoming  well  for  a 
female  rake,  like  Mrs.  Trcvclyan,  to  reform  herself  into 
a  virtuous  wife  and  an  exemplary  mother,  and  with  the 
devout  Miss  Nethersole,  at  the  other  end  of  it,  to 
show,  in  the  anglicized  character  of  Daudet's  Sapho, 
that  such  a  reformation  is  impossible,  and,  incidentally, 
to  illustrate  the  practical  wisdom  of  young  men  who 
know  the  value  of  bromides  and  cold  water,  the  moral 
field  can  be  said  to  have  been  fully  occupied.  We  live 
in  a  great  and  favored  age,  and  our  Theatre,  thus 
administered,  is  one  of  the  noblest  of  its  institu- 
tions. 

It  was  remarked  by  Scott  that  no  good  sportsman 
shoots  at  crows.  It  is  a  wise  rule,  but  sometimes  it 
cannot  rightly  be  observed.  To  speak  seriously  of  the 
proceedings  of  those  persons  who  bring  forth  such  muck 
as  "Sapho"  is  often  necessary,  because  such  persons, 
in  producing  such  plays,  procure  a  degradation  of  the 
Theatre.  The  play,  indeed,  is  dull  and  stupid,  but 
there  can  be  no  doubt  as  to  its  dirty  character  or  its 


OLGA    NETHERSOLE  313 

pernicious  tendency.  It  is  not  necessary  to  dilate  on 
the  sickly  sentimentality  of  Daudet's  novel  or  on  the 
reeking  compost  of  filth  and  folly  that  the  crude  and 
frivolous  playwright,  the  late  Clyde  Fitch,  dug  out  of 
it,  with  which  to  mire  the  Stage.  The  commodity  of 
the  scavenger  requires  no  description.  It  is  enough  to 
say  that  this  rigmarole  of  lust,  sap-headed  sentimentality, 
and  putrid  nonsense  tells  a  vulgar,  commonplace,  tire- 
some story  about  a  harlot  and  a  fool,  showing  how,  in 
a  carnal  way,  they  fascinated  each  other,  how  the  fool 
clove  to  his  folly,  and  how  the  harlot,  having  bam- 
boozled the  fool,  went  away  with  a  criminal  rogue, 
just  out  of  prison.  Into  detail  of  the  relations  between 
those  cattle  specific  inquiry  is  superfluous.  Those 
details  are  always  of  one  kind, — shameful,  and  ineffably 
trivial.  The  concrete  theme  is  the  one  thing  to  be  con- 
sidered, and  that  is  scarcely  entitled  to  more  than  the 
comment  of  wonder  that  actors  will  assemble  to  illus- 
trate such  a  matter,  and  that  spectators  exist  who  will 
actually  pay  for  the  sight  of  such  a  loathsome  exhibi- 
tion. It  seems  incredible.  Here  were  contemptible  per- 
sons, gross  proceedings,  foul  suggestions,  impure  pict- 
ures, and,  through  all,  a  purulent  stream  of  mawkish 
cant  about  the  moral  "lesson"  which  it  was  alleged 
could  be  derived  from  the  inspection  of  garbage,  and, 
unhappily,  it  is  incontestable  that  many  communities 
were  found  to  accept,  relish,  and  approve  the  fetid  mixt- 
ure,    and     that     epicene     enthusiasts     commended     its 


314  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

putridity  and  anaemic  moralists  proclaimed  its  reforma- 
tory power  and  saving  grace! 

The  question  of  dramatic  art, — that  is  to  saj%  of 
movement  in  a  play  and  of  competent  execution  in  the 
acting  of  it, — is  distinct  from  the  question  of  morals; 
but,  since  morality,  either  positive  or  negative,  is  inher- 
ently present  in  everything,  moral  quality  never  permits 
itself  to  be  ignored.  If  you  break  a  bad  egg  you  will 
ascertain  its  odor  and  you  will  not  derive  consolation 
from  the  whiteness  of  your  tablecloth.  Impurity  of 
food  is  not  redeemed  by  either  luxury  of  accessories  or 
excellence  of  service,  and  neither  does  a  vile  play 
become  salutary  and  acceptable  to  decent  taste  because 
it  happens  to  be  prettily  set  and  cleverly  acted.  Much 
specious  doctrine  on  that  subject  has  been  promulgated, 
first  and  last,  by  theatrical  panders,  seeking  gain  by  min- 
istration to  the  baser  appetites  of  "the  fool  multitude," 
but  the  truth  is  that  dramas  of  the  brothel  have  never 
done  good  to  anybody.  A  principal  effect  produced 
by  them, — aside  from  gratification  of  a  prurient  public 
taste  which  is  akin  to  the  curiosity  which  prompts  multi- 
tudes to  examine  details  of  crime  and  shame, — is  to 
defile  the  minds  of  the  young,  who  constitute  a  great 
part  of  the  theatrical  audience,  with  useless  and  harm- 
ful portrayals  of  "the  seamy  side  of  life," — with  the 
tainted  suggestions  of  leering  debauchery  and  the 
noxious  vapors  of  impudent  vice.  In  "moral"  dramas, 
such  as  "Sapho,"  that  ancient  didacticism,   "The   Les- 


OLGA    NETHERSOLE  315 

son,"  is  always  encountered, — and  it  always  will  be  as 
long  as  there  are  hypocrites  and  dunces  to  prate  and 
fools  to  listen.  The  tenet  is  that  as  long  as  "The  Les- 
son" is  clean  the  method  of  teaching  may  be  as  dirty 
as  you  please.  The  sophistry  of  that  tenet  is  trans- 
parent. The  practical  efficacy  of  "the  terrible  example" 
has  never  been  demonstrated.  On  the  contrary,  "the 
terrible  example"  has  many  times  been  proved  to  be  an 
impulse  to  vice  and  crime,  and  not  a  deterrent  from 
them.  The  advocacy  of  tainted  plays, — declaring  that 
stage  portrayals  of  licentiousness  and  turpitude  will 
tend  to  purge  society  of  vice, — emanates  largely  from 
weak  sisters  of  the  male  sex,  or  of  no  sex  at  all,  emas- 
culated puppies,  suckling  collegians  and  the  like,  try- 
ing to  cut  the  eye-teeth  of  knowledge  on  the  coral  of 
irresponsible  newspaper  criticism.  There  is  no  surer 
sign  of  mental  and  moral  obliquity  than  a  taste  for 
decadent  literature  and  art.  No  writer  of  sound  judg- 
ment endeavors  to  exploit  such  stuff  in  the  Theatre: 
it  would  be  as  rational  for  him  to  invite  public  attend- 
ance in  a  charnel  house.  The  objections  to  tainted  plays 
are  that  they  are  obnoxious  to  good  breeding  and  good 
taste;  that  their  tendency  is  to  cause  mental,  and  some- 
times physical,  nausea;  that  they  improperly  handle 
foul  themes  and,  obtruding  them  on  the  public  mind  in 
false  aspects,  soil,  at  the  sources,  the  springs  of  thought, 
feeling,  and  conduct.  "The  power  of  beauty,"  says 
Hamlet,  "will  sooner  transform  honesty  from  what  it  is 


316  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

to  a  bawd  than  the  force  of  honesty  can  translate  beauty 
into  his  likeness."  The  misrepresentative  theatrical 
portrayal  of  sexual  vice  will  sooner  blunt,  deject,  and 
vitiate  purity  of  mind  and  pervert  rectitude  of  principle 
than  it  will  create  an  impulse  to  clean  living. 

There  are  two  situations  in  the  play  of  "Sapho"  in 
which  the  fool  evinces  a  disposition  to  part  from  the 
harlot, — first  because  of  his  suddenly  acquired  knowl- 
edge of  her  infamous  past  life,  next  because  he  has 
grown  tired  of  her:  in  both  those  situations  she  grovels 
before  him,  in  frenzied  supplication  that  he  will  not 
leave  her.  At  those  points  Miss  Nethersole  was  duly 
spasmodic,  in  her  usual  vein,  but  being  of  an  unsym- 
pathetic temperament,  and  as  an  actress  always  arti- 
ficial, she  prevailed,  in  as  far  as  she  prevailed  at  all, 
by  physical  force,  not  by  either  well  simulated  feeling 
or  fine  art.  In  her  level  speaking  the  actress  was  hard, 
dry,  monotonous,  and  frequently  tame,  but  in  moments 
of  excitement  she  created  a  disturbance  which  passed 
for  emotion:  that  sort  of  turbulence  and  seeming  aban- 
donment often  creates,  for  casual  observers,  the  effect 
of  illusion.  Miss  Nethersole's  presentment  of  "Sapho," 
at  Wallack's  Theatre,  was  stopped  by  order  of  the 
police  on  March  5,  on  the  ground  of  immorality  and 
injury  of  public  decency.  The  charge  was  denied;  the 
case  was  taken  into  court ;  Miss  Nethersole  was  acquitted, 
and  the  play  was  revived,  at  Wallack's,  April  7. 


OLGA    NETHERSOLE  317 

"THE    LABYRINTH." 

The  New  York  advent  of  Miss  Nethersole  in  "The 
Labyrinth"  occurred  at  the  Herald  Square  Theatre,  on 
November  27,  1905,  and,  as  usual,  her  coming  made 
known  an  accession  of  trouble  at  the  dwelling  of  the 
Widow  Jones, — the  emotional  disturbance  being  of  a 
character  to  diffuse  not  merely  a  mist,  but  a  dense  fog 
of  woe.  Poor  Matilda  Heron,  a  wonderful  actress  in 
her  lawless,  wild  way, — who  followed  in  Mrs.  Lander's 
path,  playing  the  Camilles,  Medeas,  and  Phccdras,  and 
who  always  meant  well, — customarily  clamored  for  "the 
woman  who  is  lost."  "Only  give  me  that,"  cried  Matilda, 
"and  I  ask  for  no  more!"  The  same  tender  longing 
seems  to  have  agitated  the  bosom  of  Miss  Nethersole, 
and  that  performer  exhibited  much  facility  in  finding 
"lost"   women  to  impersonate. 

The  afflicted  Widow  Jones,  in  "The  Labyrinth,"  is 
named  Marianne — which  somehow  sounds  better  than 
the  English  Mary  Ann.  Marianne  got  married,  gave 
birth  to  a  boy,  and,  for  a  time,  dwelt  in  bliss;  but  only 
for  a  time.  The  French  husband,  it  appears,  is  a  gay 
being,  and  like  unto  the  butterfly  he  flits  from  flower  to 
flower.  Marianne's  husband  was  gay.  He  flitted. 
And  that  volatile  behavior  on  the  part  of  her  spouse 
so  displeased  Marianne  that  presently  she  obtained  a 
divorce  from  him,  and  married  another  man, — consent- 
ing, meanwhile,  that  the  boy,  dear  relic  of  Number  One, 


318  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

should  periodically  abide  with  his  sire.  Time  passed, — ■ 
according  to  its  custom, — and  Marianne  dwelt  in  bliss 
with  X umber  Two,  but  only  for  a  time.  Then  the 
child  fell  sick  of  the  infectious  and  perilous  disease  of 
diphtheria  and  Marianne  and  Number  One  were  brought 
together  at  his  crib.  Then — "Hide,  blushing  Glory, 
hide  Pultowa's  day!"  .  .  .  There  are,  manifestly,  occa- 
sions when  even  chloride  of  lime  and  tincture  of  the 
perchloride  of  iron  are  powerless  to  stay  the  course  of 
"Love."  This  consideration,  though,  seems  to  have  had 
no  weight  with  Number  Two, — even  when  it  was  sus- 
tained by  the  opinion  of  a  maternal  relative,  opposed, 
on  religious  principle,  to  the  expedient  of  divorce, — and, 
after  Marianne  had  told  her  little  tale  of  woe,  Number 
One  and  Number  Two  were  slain  by  each  other  (going 
out  behind  the  house  and  tumbling  over  a  convenient 
precipice)  and  their  double-barrelled  widow  was  left 
in  frenzy.  The  boy  recovered, — Dr.  Bolus,  being  on 
hand,  presumably  with  antitoxin. 

The  "labyrinth,"  perhaps,  was  the  maze  in  which 
the  sense  of  decency  got  lost  when  this  farrago  of  a 
play  was  written:  for  the  piece  provides  one  of  those 
aromatic  themes  to  which  Othello's  comprehensive  remark 
is  eminently  pertinent:  "Heaven  stops  the  nose  at  it, 
and  the  moon  winks!"  The  public  was  instructed,  all 
the  same,  that  M.  Hervieu's  drama  abounds  in  "lessons" 
— one  of  them  being  the  complete  irrationality  of  the 
Roman  Catholic  Church  dogma  "Once  married,  always 


OLGA    NETHERSOLE  319 

married."  But  the  truly  practical  "lesson"  deducible 
from  it  was  the  axiom  that  cleanliness,  on  the  Stage, 
might  now  and  then  be  advantageously  stimulated  by 
a  vigorous  use  of  a  fire  hose.  Plays  such  as  Miss  Neth- 
ersole  has  customarily  produced  would  always  be  bene- 
fited by  that  treatment.  That  actress,  as  Marianne, 
comported  herself  in  her  customary  manner, — as  made 
familiar  in  "Carmen,"  "Sapho,"  and  kindred  carnalisms, 
— that  is  to  say,  with  convulsions,  shudderings,  gurgita- 
tions, bleatings,  and  such  other  denotements  of  "genius" 
as  are  usual  with  performers  of  the  hysterical  order. 
Delirium,  of  course,  is  consummate  acting.  Persons  who 
go  to  pieces  and  hammer  on  things  are,  obviously,  full 
of  heart,  and  heart  is  nature,  and  tears  are  real,  and 
so  are  red  noses.  "I  will  roar,"  says  Bottom,  "that  I  will 
do  any  man's  heart  good  to  hear  me."  And  that  is  not 
altogether  a  bad  method  for  public  performers  to  adopt 
who  wish  to  communicate  the  old  "Festus"  dictum: 

"The  might  and  truth  of  hearts  is  never  shown 
But  in  loving  those  whom  we  ought  not  to  love, 
Or  cannot  have." 

The  situations  in  "The  Labyrinth"  are  forced,  but 
the  forcing  is  expertly  done,  and  there  is  enough  in 
the  play  about  children  and  the  domestic  affections  to 
gloss  over  its  rank  obf uscation  of  principle v  and  melt 
the  waxen  hearts  of  a  sentimental  auditory.  In  calm 
demeanor  and  in  level  speech  the  acting  of  Miss  Nether- 


320  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

sole  is  sometimes  finely  effective:  it  would  be  wholly  so, 
but  for  a  certain  coarseness  of  physical  quality  and  a 
commonness  of  tone  which  perhaps  may  be  correctly 
designated  as  animal  and  plebeian.  During  the  first  half 
of  that  representation  of  "The  Labyrinth"  Miss  Nether- 
sole's  performance  was  artificial  to  the  extent  of  deadly 
insincerity.  Nothing  could  be  worse  than  was  her 
endeavor  to  express  maternal  feeling.  In  the  denote- 
ment of  a  much  lower  form  of  emotion — in  the  wife's 
surrender  to  her  repentant  first  husband  (an  extremely 
contemptible  person,  whose  conduct,  however,  was  per- 
haps not  more  dishonorable  than  that  which  is  frequently 
caused  by  the  much  admired  infatuation  of  love), — she 
was  more  successful;  in  fact,  quite  actual. 

This  actress,  an  expert  advertiser,  bulged  into  print 
with  the  statement  that  "The  Labyrinth"  is  "a  great 
moral  drama,"  and  expressed  herself  as  being  "amazed 
and  shocked  at  the  action"  of  certain  ladies  of  Montreal 
in  withdrawing  their  patronage  from  a  charitable  per- 
formance of  "The  Labyrinth"  because  of  its  immorality, 
adding  her  conviction  that  the  mantle  of  charity  should 
"have  covered  anything  sinful  the  good  women  thought 
they  saw."  How  nice!  The  old,  old  story.  A  drama 
that  dumps  a  load  of  garbage  on  the  Stage  and,  inci- 
dentally, mentions  that  garbage  is  a  noxious  product 
is  "moral."  That  is  folly  or  humbug;  in  either  case  it 
is  bosh.  The  "question"  raised  in  this  play,  that  of 
divorce,   is   not   suitable   for   stage   presentment,   except 


OLGA    NETHERSOLE  321 

as  an  incidental  expedient  to  a  drama.  The  "question" 
of  morality  of  conduct  under  social  conventions  which 
establish  and  recognize  divorce  does  not  admit  of  debate 
— is  not  a  "question"  at  all.  The  Theatre,  moreover, 
is  not  a  place  to  debate  "questions."  The  moral  influ- 
ence of  the  Stage  is  incidental,  for  morality  is  an 
intrinsic  and  ever  present  attribute  of  art,  entirely  com- 
petent to  take  care  of  itself,  and  it  should  be  always 
implicit. 

The  assumption  of  Miss  Nethersole  in  undertaking 
moral  preachments  in  the  Theatre  was  an  intolerable 
impudence.  Who  has  authorized  or  asked  the  people  of 
the  Stage  to  instruct  the  public  in  "morality"?  The 
attitude  of  the  whole  tribe  of  self-proclaimed  theatrical 
"teachers"  is  insolent.  The  "Camille-Tanqueray-Sapho- 
Easiest-Way-Narrow-Path"  Drama  is  a  public  nuisance 
and  a  crying  shame.  What  good  have  such  plaj^s  done? 
Whose  morals  have  been  protected  or  renovated  by  them? 
Who  finds  the  portrayal  and  contemplation  of  such 
subjects  as  those  plays  obtrude  beneficial?  "What," 
asks  Reason,  "is  the  cause  of  all  this  theatrical  anxiety 
about  the  morals  of  other  persons?"  And  Echo  gently 
answers,  "The  cause  is  greed  of  publicity  and  gain." 
Camille,  Izeyl,  Cleopdtre,  Mrs.  Tanqueray,  Madga,  Mrs. 
Trevelyan,  Carmen,  Saplio,  and  their  sisters — what  a 
galaxy!  And  to  that  gallery  of  charming  figures  Miss 
Nethersole,  with  a  lofty  ideal  of  womanhood  and  the 
mission  of  an  artist  which  ought  to  settle,  for  all  time, 


322  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

her  place  in  public  esteem,  contributed,  as  Marianne,  a 
portrayal  of  a  doting  mother  who  is  a  wife,  worn  by 
the  dreadful  trial  of  caring  for  an  idolized  child  in  the 
death  grip  of  an  agonizing,  loathsome  disease,  protesting, 
but  yielding  to  the  passionate  solicitation  of  her  divorced 
first  husband — only,  afterward,  to  lose  herself  in  frenzied 
speculation  as  to  whether  her  crime  consisted  in  marry- 
ing her  second  husband  or  in  reverting  to  his  predecessor! 
At  about  the  time  when  this  winning  picture  of  feminine 
perplexity  was  placed  on  exhibition,  and  I  had,  in  the 
course  of  my  professional  labor  in  the  Theatre,  been 
required  to  inspect  and  mention  a  wide  variety  of 
fundamentally  kindred  ladies  of  sentimental  woe,  in 
theatrical  settings  ranging  from  tragedy  to  farce  with 
music,  I  wrote  the  following  lines  which,  perhaps, 
epitomize  the  thoughts  prompted  by  that  labor: 


"MORAL"   PLAYS. 

Haste  to  the  Play,  dear  children,  haste  to  see 
How  chaste  and  sweet  a  Cyprian  drab  can  be! 
She  that  for  many  a  moon  has  gone  astray, 
Finding  new  loves — and  lovers — each  new  day, 
In  wanton  revelry  content  to  reign, 
With  fools — and  dollars — dangling  on  her. chain; 
If  touched,  at  length,  by  sacred  passion's  fire, 
At  once  she  mingles  with  th'  angelic  choir, 
At  once  in  psalm  and  orison  unites, 
And  shines,  a  seraph,  through  her  silken  tights ; 
Pure,  modest,  tender,  delicate,  refined, — 
To  make  a  heaven  of  bliss  for  all  mankind ! 


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MRS.    LESLIE    CARTER. 

IN  "DU   BARRY"    AND    "ADREA." 

The  story  of  the  life  of  Mrs.  Leslie  Carter  will, 
doubtless,  be  told  in  detail  in  some  future  chapter  of 
theatrical  biography.  She  has  filled  a  conspicuous  posi- 
tion in  the  Theatre  of  To-day.  In  this  book  it  is  essen- 
tial only  to  record  a  few  informative  facts.  She  was 
born  in  Louisville,  Kentucky,  on  June  10,  1864  ( ?) .  Her 
maiden  name  was  Caroline  Louise  Dudley.  In  1880 
she  became  the  wife  of  Mr.  Leslie  Carter,  of  Chicago, 
and  in  1889  her  husband  obtained  a  divorce  from  her. 
On  November  10,  1890,  at  the  Broadway  Theatre,  New 
York,  she  made  her  first  appearance  on  the  stage,  acting 
Kate  Graydon,  in  a  play  called  "The  Ugly  Duckling," 
which  speedily  perished.  On  July  13,  1906,  she  was 
married  to  Mr.  William  Louis  Payne.  Her  success  as 
an  actress  has  been  considerable,  and  it  has  been  largely 
due  to  the  tuition  and  fostering  care  of  David  Belasco, 
under  whose  management  she  acted  until  her  marriage 
to  Mr.  Payne.  Mrs.  Carter  has  played  about  a  dozen 
parts.  Her  principal  performances  were  Zaza,  Du 
Barry,  and  Adrea. 

323 


324  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

"DU    BARRY." 

When  Mr.  Belasco  had  established  Mrs.  Carter  as 
a  successful  "star,"  it  pleased  him  to  select  for  public 
illustration  in  a  drama  one  of  the  most  depraved  and 
dissolute  feminine  characters  that  hang  upon  the  fringes 
of  history, — the  nameless  hussy  who,  about  one  hundred 
and  forty  years  ago,  was  picked  out  of  the  streets  of 
Paris,  and  under  the  auspices  of  the  most  notorious 
titled  blackguard  of  his  time  wedded  to  a  complaisant 
degenerate,  in  order  that  she  might  succeed  Mme. 
Pompadour  as  the  mistress  of  King  Louis  the  Fifteenth 
of  France.  That  courtesan,  Marie  Jeanne,  ennobled  as 
the  Countess  du  Barry  (1746-1793),— potent  in  life  by 
reason  of  her  personal  charms  and  flagrant  debauchery, 
but  not  otherwise  notable  among  women, — was,  in  Mr. 
Belasco's  transfiguration  of  her,  embodied, — first  in 
Washington;  then,  December  25,  1901,  at  the  Criterion 
Theatre,  New  York;  subsequently  far  and  wide  through- 
out America, — by  Mrs.  Carter.  A  precious  privilege, 
obviously,  was  thus  afforded  for  the  public  to  exalt  itself 
by  gazing  on  such  an  actress  in  such  a  part.  The  play, 
which  is  radically  fanciful,  uses  historic  names,  but  is  not, 
in  any  sense,  history.  As  in  precedent  cases  so  in  this 
one,  authentic  records  were  ignored  and  an  arbitrary,  gilt- 
edged,  rosy  ideal  took  the  place  of  truth.  Nell  Gwynn, 
in  the  person  of  Miss  Crosman,  had  worn  the  halo,  and 


MRS.    LESLIE    CARTER  325 

if  Nell  Gwynn  could  wear  it,  why  not  Marie  Jeanne? 
This  burnishing  process,  to  be  sure,  is  diffusive  of  vast 
and  general  misinformation,  but  for  most  persons  that 
seems  to  be  quite  as  useful  as  accurate  knowledge,  and, 
after  all,  if  the  Stage  is  to  present  imperial  wantons  in 
any  fashion  it  may  as  well  present  them  in  a  decent  one. 
The  gay  Du  Barry  as  seen  by  the  dramatist  was  abun- 
dantly frail,  but  she  was  also  fond,  and  while  she  did  not 
scruple  to  pick  up  the  royal  pocket-handkerchief  she 
nevertheless,  in  her  woman's  heart,  remained  true  to  her 
first  love:  that  is  the  story  of  the  play.  The  adventur- 
ous actual  Du  Barry  became  the  paramour  of  Cosse 
Brissac,  after  King  Louis  the  Fifteenth  had  died  and 
after  she  had  been  exiled  from  the  French  Court.  In 
the  play  the  lady  hides  that  lover  in  her  bed  (he  has 
been  wounded,  and  she  persuades  him  to  seek  this  retire- 
ment by  pounding  on  his  wounds  with  a  heavy  candle- 
stick, until  he  becomes  insensible),  so  that  the  jealous 
King,  committing  the  blunder  of  Byron's  Don  Alfonso, 
in  "Don  Juan,"  cannot  find  him:  she  also  wields  the 
convenient  candle-stick  with  which  to  smash  the  sconce 
of  an  interloping  relative  who  otherwise  would  betray 
him;  she  defies,  for  his  sake,  the  gracious  Majesty  of 
France  and  every  appurtenance  thereto  belonging; 
and,  at  the  last,  she  goes  pathetically  to  the  guillotine, 
still  loving  him  and  still  deploring  her  innocent,  youth- 
ful past,  when  they  were  happy  lovers  together,  when 


326  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

all  was  peace,  joy,  and  hope, — because,  as  the  poet 
Rogers  prettily  phrases  it,  "Life  was  new,  and  the 
heart  promised  what  the  fancy  drew."  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  the  amiable  countrymen  of  Du  Barry  sent 
her  to  the  guillotine,  in  the  winter  of  1793,  because 
they  had  ascertained  that  she  was  too  rich  to  be  a 
patriot  and  also,  probably,  had  entered  on  a  secret 
correspondence  with  their  enemies  in  England. 

As  an  epigraph  to  his  play  the  dramatist  selected  a 
remark  by  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  that  "not  the  great 
historical  events  but  the  personal  incidents  that  call  up 
single  sharp  pictures  of  some  human  being  in  its  pang 
or  struggle  reach  us  more  nearly."  That  statement 
sounds  well,  but  it  labors  under  the  disadvantage  of  not 
being  true.  The  play,  however,  exemplifies  it  to  the 
extent  of  showing  its  heroine  chiefly  in  her  "pang" — a 
condition  which,  seemingly,  ensues  upon  her  being  a 
feather-brained  fool,  but  which  she  loquaciously  ascribes 
to  Fate  and  a  ruthless  appetite  for  "pretty  things." 
There  is  some  lightness  at  the  start,  when  Jeanne  is  a 
milliner,  but  the  opening  act  proves  to  be  practically 
needless,  since  the  play  does  not  actually  begin  till  after 
the  second  curtain  has  been  raised.  Then  the  volatile 
girl  is  tempted  by  the  offer  of  the  King's  love,  and 
in  order  that  she  may  accept  it  her  honest  lover  is  made 
to  misunderstand  her,  in  an  incredible  manner,  such 
as  is  possible  only  on  the  stage.  In  the  Third  Act 
she  has  become  a  great  personage,  almost  a  queen,  and 


MRS.    LESLIE    CARTER  327 

that  act,  which  is  interesting,  various,  and  dramatic, 
terminates  with  a  highly  effective  scene,  possible  in  a 
play,  but  impossible  in  life, — when  Du  Barry's  wounded 
lover,  falling  insensible  on  that  lady's  bed  and  being 
carelessly  covered  with  drapery,  remains  there,  suffi- 
ciently visible  to  a  crowd  of  eager  and  suspicious  pur- 
suers who  are  searching  for  him — but  do  not  find  him. 
The  rest  of  the  piece  shows  the  King's  efforts  to  capt- 
ure the  fugitive  and  Du  Barry's  schemes  and  pleadings 
to  save  him.  Mrs.  Carter,  adept  in  coquetry,  displayed 
her  abundant  physical  fascination,  but  if  she  had 
refrained  from  removing  her  shoes  and  showing  her  feet, 
at  brief  intervals  during  the  performance,  she  would 
have  been  considerably  more  pleasing  in  even  that  easy 
vein  of  bewitchment: — they  were  not  even  pretty  feet. 
In  serious  business  the  method  of  Mrs.  Carter  as  Du 
Barry  was  to  work  herself  into  a  state  of  violent  excite- 
ment, to  weep,  vociferate,  shriek,  rant,  become  hoarse 
with  passion,  and  finally  to  flop  and  beat  the  floor.  That 
method  has  many  votaries  and  by  them  is  thought  to  be 
"acting"  and  is  much  admired,  but  to  judicious  observers 
it  is  merely  the  facile  expedient  of  transparent  artifice 
and  the  ready  resource  of  a  febrile,  unstable  nature. 
An  actor  who  loses  self-control  can  never  truly  control 
an  audience.  There  were,  nevertheless,  executive  force 
and  skill  in  Mrs.  Carter's  performance,  after  it  had 
been  often  repeated  under  the  guiding  control  of  her 
sagacious  and  able  manager. 


328  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

"ADREA." 

"Adrea,"  a  tragedy  by  David  Belasco  and  John 
Luther  Long,  was  produced  at  the  Belasco  Theatre 
on  January  11,  1905.  It  is  a  composition  of  excep- 
tional imaginative  scope  and  of  great  dramatic  power. 
Its  scene  is  a  royal  court  of  a  conjectural  kingdom, 
situated  on  an  imaginary  island  in,  perhaps,  the 
Adriatic  Sea.  Its  time  is  named  as  about  the  fifth 
century  of  the  Christian  era, — a  time  well  chosen  for 
poetic  and  romantic  purposes;  for  the  vast  Roman 
Empire  had  then  become  extinguished  in  Western 
Europe  and  was  slowly  crumbling  to  pieces  in  the  East, 
and  minor  monarchies  can  credibly  be  supposed  to  have 
flourished  in  such  an  era  of  transition,  and  a  martial 
chieftain  out  of  Noricum  to  have  dallied  with  the 
daughters  of  a  Roman  Prince.  It  is  a  play  without 
historic  basis;  an  authentic  creation  of  the  inventive 
brain;  a  vigorous  and  splendid  work  of  art,  moving 
freely  in  a  broad  field.  Its  chief  persons  are  monarchs 
and  warriors.  It  deals  with  great  themes, — great  pas- 
sions, crimes,  and  sorrows;  great  and  terrible  punish- 
ments of  sin;  and  the  spectacle  of  great  character  made 
sublime  by  grief.  Much  of  its  movement  proceeds  in 
the  open  air:  some  of  it  beneath  the  vault  of  night;  and 
its  web  involves  the  terrors  of  tempest  and  the  mystery 
and  dread  of  spectres  from  the  realm  of  death.  The 
form  and  color  of  it  are  modern, — a  form  and  color  of 


MRS.    LESLIE    CARTER  329 

rosy  amplitude  and  voluptuous  luxuriance;  but  the  feel- 
ing that  pervades  it  is  the  ominous  feeling  of  the  old 
Greek  tragedies  of  fate  and  doom.  Its  defect  is  excess — 
an  excess  of  persons,  objects,  pictures,  emotions,  and 
words;  the  superflux  that  proceeds  from  intensely  pas- 
sionate feeling  in  the  conception  of  the  story,  and 
especially  in  the  conception  and  development  of  its  cen- 
tral character.  An  affluence  of  fancy  is,  however,  more 
grateful  than  the  frigid  sense  of  want. 

No  student  of  Roman  history  needs  to  be  told  that 
among  the  women  of  Rome  (and  at  one  time  all  Italy 
was  circumscribed  within  the  capital)  there  were  females 
illustrious  for  almost  celestial  virtues  and  females  por- 
tentous for  the  monstrosity  of  their  hideous  crimes.  The 
authors  of  "Adrea"  have  neither  distorted  nature  nor 
exaggerated  fact  in  their  portraiture  of  the  two  prin- 
cesses, Adrea  and  Julia,  who  are  opposed  and  con- 
trasted in  this  remarkable  drama  of  love,  crime,  frenzy, 
retribution,  atonement,  and  peace.  Adrea  is  not  nobler 
or  more  virtuous  than  Valentinian's  Eudoccia,  nor  is 
Julia  more  malignant,  treacherous,  and  cruel  than  Jus- 
tinian's Theodora.  In  the  delineation  of  Adrea  the 
purpose,  obviously,  was  to  present,  amid  regal  accessories 
and  in  all  the  paraphernalia  of  semi-barbaric  splendor, 
a  woman  of  lofty  mind,  potent  character,  and  impetuous 
passions,  and,  by  making  her  the  victim  not  alone  of 
blighted  affection,  but  of  deadly  outrage,  to  involve  her 
in  a  complex  tangle  of  torment;  to  make  her  terrible, 


330  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

in  the  delirium  of  exasperated  feeling;  to  display  her 
emotional  perturbation  and  fierce  and  ferocious  conduct, 
in  a  vortex  of  tempestuous  struggle;  and,  finally,  to 
depict  her  noble  expiatory  conquest  of  herself,  and  to 
leave  her,  in  her  lonely  majesty,  a  sublime  image  of  tri- 
umphant virtue,  gentle  fortitude,  and  patient  grief. 
That  purpose  has  been  superbly  accomplished.  To 
superficial  observers,  indeed,  the  delineation  of  Adrea 
appeals  chiefly  by  reason  of  its  implication  of  theatrical 
situation,  its  startling  effects  of  climax,  and  its  gorgeous 
scenic  investiture.  To  thoughtful  minds  it  comes  home 
as  an  illuminative  and  significant  exposition  of  human 
nature,  artfully  made  through  the  medium  of  a  won- 
derful picture  of  human  life  in  the  antique  world:  and 
in  this  it  reaches  much  further  than  to  the  fulfilment  of 
an  immediate  theatrical  need.  Like  the  more  classic 
dramatists  of  the  Garrick  era,  its  authors  have  drawn 
their  inspiration  from  the  great  fountain  of  historic 
antiquity — adjusting,  rearranging,  and  emphasizing  old 
types  and  old  examples,  to  exhibit  actually,  and  not  by 
any  dubious  method  of  old  symbolism,  what  is  in  our 
own  hearts  and  of  what  fibre  we  all  are  made.  Their 
play  is  an  honor  to  them,  and  it  is  a  rich  and  perma- 
nent addition  to  the  literature  of  the  Stage — by  which  is 
meant  not  things  that  are  made  to  be  read,  but  things 
that  are  made  to  be  acted. 

Mrs.  Carter  impersonated  Adrea,  and,  having  found 
a  part  in  which  she  could  entirely  liberate  all  her  emo- 


MRS.    LESLIE    CARTER  331 

tional  power,  without  losing  control  of  it,  she  rose  to 
the  occasion.  She  had  thitherto  acted  in  comedy  or 
sentimental  drama.  The  character  of  Adrea  is  tragic. 
That  princess,  deserted  by  her  idolized  lover,  has  become 
blind.  Later  she  is,  by  this  physical  calamity,  deprived 
of  her  royal  inheritance,  and  then,  through  the  odious 
strategy  of  her  criminal  sister,  she  is  delivered  into 
the  lewd  embraces  of  an  ignominious  menial.  Exposure 
to  an  electrical  tempest  at  once  restores  her  vision  and 
destroys  this  enforced  and  shameful  bondage,  so  that 
she  can  occupy  her  throne  and, — should  he  be  placable, 
— redeem  and  reinstate  her  lover.  In  this  auspicious 
moment,  through  access  of  pride  and  perversity  of  pas- 
sion, she  is  defied  and  insulted  by  the  man  whom  she 
loves,  and,  in  a  paroxysm  of  fury,  she  condemns  him 
to  be  lashed  through  her  streets  and  trampled  by  her 
horses.  A  calmer  mood  succeeds,  for  both  Queen  and 
warrior,  and  they  speak  together  again,  almost  as  lovers: 
but  the  Queen  is  powerless  to  rescue  her  subject  from 
his  doom,  and,  in  order  to  save  him  from  a  death  of 
shame,  she  strikes  him  dead.  In  the  sequel,  after 
years  of  fatal  remembrance,  she  invites  the  black 
eclipse,  disablement  and  misery  of  blindness  and  delivers 
her  kingdom  to  the  rule  of  her  slaughtered  lover's  son. 
Through  the  wide  range  of  conflicting  emotions  impli- 
cated in  this  experience  Mrs.  Carter  moved  firmly, 
steadily,  triumphantly, — commanding  every  situation 
and  rising  to  every  climax.     No  denotement  in   Mrs. 


332  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

Carter's  acting  of  Du  Barry  had  even  remotely  indicated 
such  depth  of  tragical  feeling  and  such  power  of  dra- 
matic expression  as  she  revealed  in  the  scene  of  the 
tempest,  in  pronouncing  Kacso's  doom,  and,  above  all, 
in  the  terrible,  piteous,  tragic  self-conflict  through  which 
the  Woman  became  the  incarnation  of  Fate  and  the  min- 
ister of  death.  Mrs.  Carter  had  long  been  known  for 
her  exceptional  facility  of  feminine  blandishment,  her 
absolute  command  of  the  enticing  wiles  of  coquetry  and 
the  soft  allurements  of  sensuous  grace, — known,  like- 
wise, and  rightly  admired  for  the  clarity  and  purity 
of  her  English  speech,  always  delightful  to  hear:  but 
observers  studious  to  see  and  willing  to  be  convinced  had 
not  supposed  her  to  be  an  actor  of  tragedy.  It  took 
a  long  time  for  Mrs.  Carter  to  gain  a  really  great 
victory,  but  she  gained  it  in  Adrea.  The  impersona- 
tion possessed  many  attributes  of  beauty:  symmetry, 
for  the  eye;  melody,  for  the  ear;  unity,  continuity,  and 
sustainment,  for  the  critical  sense;  personal  fascination, 
for  the  physical  consciousness;  poetic  atmosphere,  for 
the  imagination;  and  sincerity  of  emotion,  for  the  heart: 
but,  it  possessed  one  supreme  attribute  of  terror,  abso- 
lute knowledge  of  human  misery.  "Look  into  your 
heart,  and  write"  is  an  old  poetic  precept.  "Look  into 
your  heart,  and  act"  ought  to  be  joined  with  it:  but,  God 
pity  the  heart  into  which  the  true  poet  and  the  true 
actor  must  sometimes  look! 


XL 

LEAVES  FROM  MY  JOURNAL: 

"ZAZA,  SAPHO  &  CO.— UNLIMITED." 

November  11,  1900: — The  moral  ministrations  of 
Mrs.  Leslie  Carter,  in  the  character  of  Zaza,  which, 
with  the  apostolic  sanction  of  Mr.  Charles  Frohman, 
have  for  some  time  edified,  blessed,  and  ennobled  the 
community,  at  the  Criterion  Theatre,  have  been  con- 
cluded, and  that  exemplary  toiler  in  the  vineyard  of 
virtue  will  now  operate  elsewhere,  extending  the  sphere 
of  her  beneficence  and  refreshing  other  sandy  wastes 
of  sin  with  those  dews  of  righteousness  and  "lessons" 
of  rectitude  for  which  she  is  so  signally  renowned.  Her 
labors  here  have  abundantly  resulted  in  fruits,  and  other 
delicacies,  meet  for  repentance,  and  the  crowded  ranks 
of  her  grateful  proselytes  cannot  behold  without  a  pang 
the  deep  disaster  of  her  going  off.  The  heart  will  occa- 
sionally break,  under  such  harrowing  circumstances  of 
bereavement  and  deprivation,  and  yet,  as  the  poet 
Byron  noticed,  it  will  brokenly  live  on.  A  martyred 
public,  however,  need  not  sorrow  as  those  without  hope, 
for  Mrs.  Carter  is  coming  back,  and  coming  not  only 
with   the    morally    fecund   Zaza,   but   with    a   character 

333 


334  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

still  more  fumiferous,  from  the  same  ignopotent  Belasco 
pen;  and,  meantime, — to  soothe  all  sorrows  and  to  dry- 
all  tears, — as  golden  Carter  lessens  in  the  West,  the 
Orient  blazes  with  refulgent  Nethersole.  In  the  absence 
of  Zaza  there  is  comfort  in  a  knowledge  that  seekers 
after  truth  and  lovers  of  virtue  can  repair  to  Wallack's 
Theatre  and  sit  at  the  number  nine  English  feet  of 
Sapho : 

"Sweet  Harmonist !  and  beautiful  as  sweet ! 
And  young  as  beautiful!  and  soft  as  young! 
And  gay  as  soft !  and  innocent  as  gay !" 

Nethersole,  to  be  sure,  is  a  proselyte  of  Carter,  and 
not  quite  the  genuine  article  of  moral  suasion,  and  it 
is  probably  true, — as  a  listening  world  has  heard  from 
Mme.  Re  jane,  who  surely  ought  to  know, — that  Sapho 
is  innocent  milk  alongside  of  the  strong  wine  of  Zaza. 
But  the  imitation  is  potent:  it  fluttered  even  the  Volsces 
of  the  District  Attorney,  last  April:  if  Nethersole  as 
Sapho  cannot  precipitate  herself  upon  the  contiguous 
furniture  with  quite  the  reckless  abandonment  and 
athletic  anguish  of  Carter  as  Zaza,  she  can  plunge  at 
the  carpet  with  a  violence  that  causes  acute  agony,  she 
can  smash  bric-a-brac  with  a  remarkably  free  hand,  she 
can  rend  the  firmament  with  raucous  sounds,  and,  as  to 
the  hysterics  of  amatory  stationery,  in  that  sweet  episode 
of  the  love  letters  she  can  readily  excel  competition: 
and,  after  all,  and  notwithstanding  Mme.  Re  jane,  that 


LEAVES  FROM  MY  JOURNAL    335 

singularly  chaste  and  illuminative  spiral  staircase  busi- 
ness with  the  impassioned  Sapho  is  almost  as  full  of 
salutary  significance  for  ingenuous  minds,  and  almost 
as  stimulative  of  the  nobler  propensities  of  humanity,  as 
the  delicate  dressing-room  scene  with  the  loving  Zaza, 
in  which  that  other  artless  child  of  nature  refreshes  her 
half-naked  person  with  powder  and  perfumery,  and 
coos  and  purrs  around  her  reluctant  lover  in  what  is, 
no  doubt,  intended  as  the  true  spirit  of  the  Sunday 
School.  Sapho  may  be  the  lacteal  fluid  of  morality  as 
compared  with  Zaza,  but  its  milk,  if  milk  it  be,  is,  at 
least,  that  of  goats:  and  this  is  a  form  of  theatrical 
nourishment  that  must  not  be  undervalued  or  disparaged. 
If  Chaucer's  apple-tree  can  grow,  and  become  a  stand- 
ard test  of  decency,  under  the  approving  smile  and 
fructifying  sunshine  of  the  Supreme  Court,  why  not 
Sapho? 

This  being  understood,  and  these  things  being  in 
order,  the  mourners  for  the  absent  Zaza  should  be  con- 
soled by  the  present  Sajrfio.  And  what  a  comfort  it  is 
to  consider  that  Carter  and  Nethersole  are  both  extant 
in  the  same  period,  and  both  engaged  in  the  same  holy 
work!  Much  as  the  community  has  been  elevated  by 
a  contemplation  of  those  heroines  of  reformation,  it  prob- 
ably has  not  yet  entirely  comprehended  the  nature  and 
extent  of  its  obligation  to  them.  They  have  broken 
many  fetters;  they  have  illumined  many  dark  places; 
they  have  swept  away  many  delusions;  and,  in  particular, 


386  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

they  have  dissipated  the  fallacious  notion  that  the  Thea- 
tre should  he  the  home  of  beauty,  poetry,  and  art;  that 
the  Drama  should  he  a  repository  of  nohle  thought, 
romantic  imagery,  and  pure  influence;  that  acting  should 
show  its  spectators  an  ideal  to  be  emulated, — in  char- 
acter, life,  and  manners, — making  them  happier  than 
they  were  before  seeing  it,  and  leaving  their  hearts 
uplifted  and  their  minds  refreshed.  That  was  an  old 
belief;  but,  with  other  old  beliefs, — with  foolish  ideas 
about  love,  purity,  self-sacrifice,  the  fireside  of  home, 
and  the  sanctity  of  the  altar  of  God, — it  must  now  be 
cast  aside.  Old-fashioned,  stupid  views  about  the  Stage 
have  had  their  day,  and  it  is  time  they  were  discarded. 
The  true  province  of  the  Modern  Theatre  is  to  place 
within  the  public  reach  the  precious  privilege  of  observ- 
ing the  blandishments  and  the  tribulations  of  cour- 
tesans and  hussies,  the  riff-raff  of  female  vanity,  folly, 
and  sensuality;  of  studying  the  means  employed  by 
those  beatific  persons  to  fascinate  fools  and  to  obtain 
music-hall  engagements;  and,  incidentally,  of  inspect- 
ing the  brothel  side  of  metropolitan  life,  learning  how 
homes  are  disrupted,  characters  degraded,  careers 
ruined,  and  hearts  broken,  and  of  imbibing,  at  last,  a 
settled  disgust  for  human  nature,  such  as  is  well  cal- 
culated to  turn  the  kindest  soul  to  bitter  cynicism,  shat- 
ter the  foundations  of  religious  faith,  and  cover  every- 
thing in  the  world  with  a  pall  of  satiety  and  despair. 
That  is  the  logical  inference  obviously  deducible  from 


LEAVES  FROM  MY  JOURNAL    337 

much  that  has  been  exhibited  on  the  stage  within  a 
recent  period, — and  not  only  exhibited  on  the  stage, 
but  rapturously  accepted  by  a  multitude  of  the  public. 
It  may  not  be  amiss,  accordingly,  to  indicate  that  the 
toils,  achievements,  and  renown  of  those  players,  alike 
in  England  and  America,  who  are  engaged  in  this 
great  business  of  thus  widening  the  popular  vision  and 
supervising  the  popular  morals  (a  class  well  represented 
by  Carter  and  Nethersole,  with  "Zaza"  and  "Sapho," 
plays  which  are  shockingly  pernicious  in  their  influence, 
and  not  less  so  because  tagged  with  the  sickening 
putridity  of  "moral  lessons,"  plays  that  have  been,  and 
customarily  are,  shown  and  acted  in  a  shockingly 
indelicate  and  offensive  manner)  are,  at  least,  begin- 
ning to  be  understood,  and  that  they  ought  to  be  more 
widely  and  more  particularly  appreciated. 


XII. 

MRS.    PATRICK   CAMPBELL   IN    SEVERAL    PLAYS. 

"MAGDA." 

Mrs.  Patrick  Campbell,  an  English  actress  of  con- 
siderable repute  in  London,  appeared  at  the  Republic 
Theatre,  New  York,  on  January  13,  1902,  acting  the 
chief  part  in  Sudermann's  play  of  "Magda," — named 
in  the  original  "Heimat."  That  play  illustrates  two 
propositions:  that  it  is  prudent  for  a  young  woman  to 
become  a  wife  before  she  becomes  a  mother,  and  that 
parents  should  not  exercise  irrational  tyranny  in  the 
management  of  their  children.  It  ought  not  to  require 
much  "pen  and  ink,"  as  Rip  Van  Winkle  calls  it, 
to  formulate  those  truisms,  but  Sudermann  has  spread 
his  thin  treacle  of  platitude  over  a  broad  surface,  so 
that  his  "Madga," — despite  the  fact  that  it  contains 
two  interviews  and  colloquies  that  are  well  constructed 
and  effective, — is  tediously  commonplace.  The  story 
is  indelicate,  and  chiefly  for  that  reason  it  has  attracted 
considerable  notice.  The  character  of  Magda  typifies 
"the  new  woman," — that  is  to  say,  the  woman  who 
proposes  to  take  an  independent  course  in  all  things, 
and,  as  far  as  possible,  to  act  as  if  she  were  a  lawless 

338 


MRS.    PATRICK    CAMPBELL  339 

man, — and  that  fact  has  helped  to  invest  the  play  with 
a  certain  and  very  mischievous  allurement  for  many 
women.  In  London  all  such  plays  as  "Magda"  are, 
and  long  have  been,  viewed  with  special  favor  by  a 
sickly  class  of  fantastic  triflers  and  degenerates, 
known,  among  themselves,  as  "the  souls."  In  America 
they  are  congenial  to  an  increasing  class  of  similar 
cranks. 

Analysis  of  the  character  of  Magda, — made  in  the 
first  volume  of  this  work,  but  pertinent  here  and 
therefore  here  summarized, — discovers  that  this  young 
woman  represents  conceit,  perversity,  mulish  self-will, 
bad  temper,  an  ill-balanced  mind,  unprincipled  con- 
duct, the  self-indulgence  of  a  capricious  voluptu- 
ary, and  the  spirit  of  revolt  against  all  restraints, 
whether  of  convention,  duty,  or  common  sense.  She 
is  vain,  selfish,  ill-bred,  eager  for  admiration,  and  intent, 
in  a  thoroughly  pig-headed  fashion,  on  having  her  own 
way,  without  regard  to  either  cost  or  consequence. 
She  incarnates  egotism,  and  in  actual  life  she  would 
be  insufferable, — making  trouble  for  herself  and  for 
everybody  around  her.  She  rebels  against  an  austere 
father;  leaves  her  home;  suffers  seduction  and  abandon- 
ment; gives  birth  to  an  illegitimate  child, — thereby 
imparting  to  another  wretched  being  the  burden  of  her 
own  folly,  weakness,  and  sin, — attains  theatrical  dis- 
tinction— that  colossal  crown  of  greatness! — and  then 
she  returns  to  her  father's  house  (a  proceeding  as  need- 


340  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

less  as  it  is  foolish  and  incredible),  to  find  that  her 
licentious  betrayer  is  her  father's  intimate  friend,  to 
wither  him  with  her  scorn  for  his  belated  advances, 
while  thanking  him  for  having  emancipated  her  spirit 
through  the  blessing  of  maternity,  and  to  shock  her 
choleric  old  sire  into  a  fatal  apoplexy  by  the  ill-tem- 
pered, wanton,  coarse  innuendo  that  she  has  been  leading 
a  life  of  sexual  degradation  and  shame.  It  would  not 
be  easy  to  imagine  a  more  repellent  type  of  every- 
thing that  is  unlovely  in  female  nature  and  grossly  and 
wantonly  wayward  in  female  conduct. 

The  purpose,  in  presenting  this  type  of  headstrong 
womanhood,  manifestly  was  to  construct  such  situations 
as  are  naturally  sequent  upon  amorous  intrigue.  Those 
situations  are  strained,  but  that  of  the  prosperous 
prodigal  Magda's  return  to  her  primitive,  straitlaced 
home  is  one  of  sharp  contrast  and  of  mischievous, 
piquant  vivacity,  and  that  of  her  colloquy  with  her 
despicable  betrayer, — now  become  a  speciously  sancti- 
monious hypocrite, — is  replete  with  the  force  of  mordant 
contempt  and  satirical  bitterness,  while  that  of  the  inter- 
view between  Magdas  father,  the  stern,  stalwart, 
imperious  German  officer,  and  this  whited  sepulchre  of 
vice  diffuses  a  certain  potentiality  of  anxious  suspense. 
The  play,  however,  contains  no  dramatic  element  of 
exceptional  strength,  its  fibre  is  coarse,  its  atmosphere 
is  dull,  its  didacticism  is  rudimentary,  and  its  general 
impartment  to  the  spectator  is  that  of  annoyance  and 


MRS.    PATRICK    CAMPBELL  341 

distress.  Mag  da  was  first  revealed  on  the  American 
Stage  in  1 88  A  by  Helena  Modjeska,  who  made  her  a 
woman  of  genius,  and,  by  investing  the  character  with 
undue  mental  superiority  and  refinement,  rendered  its 
meaning  inapplicable  to  the  average  of  women:  and 
this  is  a  play  that  must  justify  its  existence  on  ethical 
grounds,  if  that  existence  is  to  be  justified  at  all.  The 
part  was,  afterward,  conspicuously  acted  by  Sarah  Bern- 
hardt, Eleanora  Duse,  and  Minnie  Maddern  Fiske, — the 
latter  actress  giving  the  truest  and  therefore  the  best 
performance  of  it  ever  seen. 

Mrs.  Patrick  Campbell  brought  to  Mag  da  the 
advantages  of  personal  beauty,  of  a  peculiar  type,  and 
the  facility  of  experience.  Tall,  lithe,  slender,  alert 
in  movement,  nervous,  restless,  impetuous,  possessed 
of  an  expressive  countenance  and  of  a  peculiar  voice, 
singular  rather  than  sympathetic;  clever  in  posing,  and 
proficient  in  sudden  swirls  of  vehement  motion  and 
fervent  loquacity,  that  actress  imparted  the  impression 
of  a  distinctive,  energetic,  potent  character.  Excessive 
sensibility  was  the  predominant  attribute  of  her  acting, 
and  that  was  combined  with  a  strange  self-absorption, 
as  of  a  mind  in  which  fancy  exceeds  reason  and  volition 
is  governed  by  impulse.  In  the  single  gay  scene  of  the 
drama,  that  of  Magda's  arrival  in  her  father's  house, 
there  was  abundant  expression  of  physical  exuberance 
and  reckless  hilarity,  but  there  was  neither  sweetness 
nor  humor.     Mrs.    Campbell    was   essentially   a   serious 


342  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

actress  in  a  bizarre,  fantastic,  and  more  or  less  dis- 
traught vein.  Her  expression  of  scorn  and  contempt, 
in  Mag  das  interview  with  the  licentious  charlatan, 
Keller;  her  utterance  of  sarcasm,  in  the  bitter,  icy,  mor- 
dant mockery  of  him;  her  proud  exultation,  in  defeating, 
repelling,  and  degrading  him,  and  her  impassioned 
volubility  in  declaiming  about  woman's  advancement 
under  the  sharp  discipline  of  sin  and  sorrow  revealed 
her  powers  at  their  best,  showing  her  to  be  a  com- 
petent performer,  in  that  intense,  spasmodic  school 
which,  both  in  America  and  England,  has,  of  late 
years,  attained  to  such  a  considerable  prominence — 
since  drawing-room  walls  began  to  be  stuccoed  with  din- 
ner plates  and  "poetical"  literature  to  be  peopled  with 
"blessed  damosels."  In  those  passionate  speeches  to 
Keller  (which,  intrinsically,  are  fustian)  she  manifested 
more  power  of  design  than  of  execution,  but  enough 
of  fervor  to  create  an  illusion  of  sincerity. 

The  Stage  is  never  less  attractive  than  when  it  deviates 
into  ethical  analysis  and  exposition,  and  undertakes 
to  diffuse  regulative  admonitions  as  to  public  morals. 
Such  a  play  as  "Magda"  may  be  needed  in  Germany; 
it  is  not  needed  in  America. 

"BEYOND    HUMAN    POWER." 

If  Mrs.  Patrick  Campbell  were  either  a  great  actress 
or  a  great  woman, — that  is  to  say,  if  the  denotements 
of  her  acting  or  those  of  her  personality  were  such  as 


MRS.    PATRICK    CAMPBELL  343 

to  elevate  the  beholder  with  a  sense  of  superlative 
ability  or  superlative  natural  gifts, — there  might  be  a 
reason  for  resigned  acceptance  of  her  sedulous  presenta- 
tion of  noxious,  or  dismal,  or  crazy  plays.  Greatness 
palliates  defects.  The  reader  of  Swift,  for  example,  is 
willing  to  endure  the  distressful  misanthropy  of  that 
great  writer,  in  consideration  of  his  wonderful  genius. 
But  Mrs.  Campbell  is  neither  exceptional  as  an  actress 
nor  extraordinary  as  a  woman.  Her  professional  equip- 
ment, gained  in  many  years  of  experience,  is,  indeed, 
ample  for  many  purposes,  and  she  possesses  the  more 
or  less  winning  charm  of  a  personal  oddity,  but  there 
is  neither  glamour  in  her  proceedings  nor  magic  in  her- 
self to  divert  attention  from  the  excessively  lugubrious, 
morbid,  dull,  and  sometimes  pernicious  character  of  the 
dramas  in  which  she  has  chosen  to  appear;  and  either 
to  see  those  plays  or  to  think  of  them  is  to  suffer.  On 
January  18,  1902,  Mrs.  Campbell  presented  a  colloquy, 
in  two  parts,  called  "Beyond  Human  Power,"  written 
by  Bjornstjerne  Bjornson,  and  therein  she  impersonated 
a  bed-ridden  female,  afflicted  with  partial  paralysis. 
Bjornson  was  a  writer  of  ability,  but  one  bent  on  being 
singular  at  any  and  every  cost,  and  his  literary  fabric, 
"Beyond  Human  Power,"  is  nothing  more  than  a  pon- 
derous, tedious,  pointless,  futile  essay  on  Christianity 
and  "Christian  Science";  a  picture  and  a  dialogue, 
freighted  with  the  disclosure  (which  he  seems  to  have 
considered  momentous)  that  it  is  entirely  beyond  human 


SU  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

power,  through  the  agency  of  prayer,  to  arrest  the 
progress  of  a  fatal  disease.  There  may  be  other  mean- 
ings secreted  in  the  recesses  of  this  intricate,  prolix 
composition,  but  that  is  the  most  obvious  one,  and, 
undeniably,  such  an  impartment  is  more  compatible  with 
a  medical  treatise  or  with  a  sermon  than  it  is  with  a 
play.  In  practical  effect  the  performance  of  it  was  a 
prayer-meeting,  with  calciums, — needing  only  a  final 
doxology  to  make  it  complete. 

The  scene  of  this  crazy  exposition  is  a  town  of  north- 
ern Norway,  and  the  characters  implicated  in  it  con- 
sist of  one  bishop,  seven  preachers,  one  layman,  and  five 
women.  One  of  the  preachers  purports  to  be  a  worker 
of  miracles.  That  saint  has  healed  several  diseased 
persons,  and  he  now  proposes  to  heal  his  sick  wife,  an 
invalid,  who  has  long  been  disabled,  and  who,  for  six 
weeks,  has  not  been  able  to  sleep.  The  cure  is  to  be 
effected  by  prayer.  The  suffering  wife, — who  devotedly 
loves  her  husband  and  more  than  half  believes  in  his 
power  to  work  a  miracle, — is  sympathetic  with  his  design 
and  responsive  to  his  ecstatic  conviction,  and  so,  event- 
ually, she  is  moved  by  his  hypnotic  force.  His  son  and 
daughter,  on  the  contrary,  from  whom  he  has  expected 
co-operative  aid  in  his  orisons,  find  themselves  incapaci- 
tated by  doubt,  and,  in  this  dilemma,  after  a  wearisome 
and  platitudinous  inquiry  as  to  the  constituents  of 
Christianity,  he  concludes  that  he  must  win  his  victory 
alone,  and  thereupon  he  retires  into  his  church,  to  pray. 


MRS.    PATRICK    CAMPBELL  345 

The  progress  of  his  devotion  is  announced  by  the  toll- 
ing of  a  bell,  and  presently  his  wife  falls  into  a  trance 
of  slumber,  this  repose  being  so  complete  that  even  the 
tumult  caused  by  a  noisy  landslide  does  not  break  it. 
The  landslide,  it  is  declared,  has  spared  the  church, 
and  this  incident,  coupled  with  that  of  the  invalid's 
lapse  into  sleep,  is  accepted  as  a  miracle,  vouchsafed 
by  Heaven  in  answer  to  the  preacher's  prayer.  The 
bishop  and  seven  parsons  then  assemble  and,  pending 
the  expected  recovery  of  the  paralytic, — who  is  to  rise 
and  walk, — they  indulge  in  a  protracted  debate  on  the 
possibility  and  nature  of  miracles;  a  debate  in  which 
many  different  views  are  enunciated,  mostly  in  that 
style  of  loquacious,  top-lofty,  bumble-bee  sonority  to 
which  pulpit  performers  are  commonly  addicted.  This 
controversy,  aimless,  profitless,  and  wofully  stupid,  is 
mercifully  closed  by  the  entrance  of  the  patient,  clad 
in  a  beautiful  nightgown,  and  perfectly  possessed  of  her 
powers  of  locomotion.  The  preacher  is  summoned  from 
the  church.  The  neighbors  cluster  about  the  house. 
The  congregation  chants  Hallelujah.  All  seems  to  be 
well.  But  the  trance  machinery  has  spent  its  force. 
The  wife  falls  dead,  of  paralysis;  the  husband  falls  dead, 
of  disappointment;  the  play  falls  dead,  of  innate 
absurdity;  and  the  audience  very  nearly  falls  dead,  of 
fatigue. 

Bjornson's  drama, — if  drama  it  can  be  called  which 
contains    only   two   moments   of   anything   like    action, 


346  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

— has  been  translated  into  smooth  and  expressive 
English  by  Miss  Jessie  Muir,  and  several  of  its  pas- 
sages of  narrative  and  description  are  notably  pic- 
torial and  eloquent;  while  even  in  the  debate  on  miracles 
there  are  occasional  touches  of  pungent  phraseology 
such  as  impart  a  momentary  bliss  of  relief  from  rhap- 
sodical folly.  Perhaps  there  was  a  little  agnostic  mis- 
chief in  the  author's  purpose, — a  slight  intention  of 
satire, — when  writing  that  colloquy  of  the  ecclesiastical 
synod.  No  intelligent  person  believes  that  anything 
has  ever  happened  in  this  world,  or  ever  will  happen, 
or  ever  can  happen,  that  is  not  in  absolute  accordance 
with  the  laws  of  nature.  Christianity, — the  spirit 
embodied  in  the  character  of  its  Founder, — is  not  a 
mystery,  nor  does  it  depend  on  miracles.  Diseases  that 
exist  only  in  the  imagination  can,  doubtless,  be  alleviated 
or  cured  by  an  effort  of  the  will.  Cheer  of  mind  is 
propitious  to  health  of  body.  Twice  two  is  four.  There 
needs  no  ghost  come  from  Norway  to  tell  us  this.  The 
fabric  is  not  destitute  of  interest  as  a  miniature  sketch 
of  Norwegian  life,  and  likewise  it  is  a  curiosity.  But  a 
sick  woman  lying  in  bed  is  out  of  place  in  a  theatre, 
and  when  fanatical  enthusiasm,  however  amiable,  has 
turned  a  man  into  a  fool  he  should  not  be  presented 
as  a  type  of  Christian  character. 

The  acting  was  marked  by  profound  sincerity.  Mrs. 
Campbell's  elocution,  in  her  level  speaking,  and  until 
she  became  excited,  excelled  any  display  of  intelligence 


MRS.    PATRICK    CAMPBELL  347 

and  skill  which  she  had  made,  but  as  Mrs.  Sang  she 
seemed  a  remarkably  healthful  invalid,  and  it  was  pleas- 
ant to  observe  that  even  in  death  her  beauty  remained 
unimpaired.  Mr.  Titheradge,  a  heavy  going  but  correct 
actor,  manifested  a  temperament  of  uncommon  benig- 
nity and  sweetness,  and  filled,  indeed,  a  true  ideal  of 
the  bland,  impracticable,  deeply  religious  crank.  A 
disputatious  parson,  with  a  predilection  for  common 
sense,  was  skilfully  embodied  by  Mr.  George  Arliss, 
whose  presence  thus  cast  a  gleam  of  sunshine  upon  a 
dark   place. 

"MARIANA." 

The  play  of  "Mariana,"  presented  by  Mrs.  Campbell 
on  January  24,  1902,  at  the  Republic  Theatre,  was 
the  first  of  the  plays  of  the  Spanish  dramatist  Jose 
Echegaray  ever  acted  in  America,  and  Mrs.  Camp- 
bell's interpretation  of  Mariana,  its  heroine,  was  a 
flutter  of  levity,  a  breeze  of  coquetry,  and  a  spasm  of 
hysterical  excitement.  In  seeing  "Mariana"  the  observer 
saw  the  wooing,  and  what  came  of  it,  of  a  sophisticated, 
egotistical,  arrogant,  selfish,  intolerable  young  woman 
by  a  feather-brained,  feverish,  impetuous  young  man, 
stupidly  crazed  with  passion.  The  greater  part  of  the 
play  is  an  inquiry  whether  Mariana  will,  or  will  not, 
accede  to  her  lover's  solicitation,  and  it  appears  to  have 
been  expected  that  the  spectator  would  view  with 
anxious    suspense    the    capricious    perturbations    of    her 


348  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

mind  and  the  wayward  vacillations  of  her  conduct.  At 
some  moments  she  is  propitious:  at  others  her  aspect 
is  that  of  ominous  menace.  Intimations  are  given  that 
she  has  inherited  from  a  wicked  father  and  a  weak,  sin- 
ful, unfortunate  mother, — both  deceased, — legacies  of 
inherent  evil, — a  cynical  distrust  of  all  goodness  and  a 
propensity  to  be  heartless  and  cruel.  She  is  manifested 
as  something  refulgent,  portentous,  mysterious,  potent, 
and  inflammatory,  causing  masculine  combustion  at 
every  turn.  Anguish  in  the  male  bosom  hails  her 
approach  and  havoc  attends  her  footsteps. 

The  execution  done  on  Marianas  lover,  Daniel,  this 
being  the  burden  of  the  play,  is  pitiful — for  that  unfort- 
unate man  is  "distill'd  almost  to  jelly"  in  her  presence, 
and  when  at  length  she  accepts  his  homage  he  becomes 
a  pulp.  That  situation  being  arranged,  the  full  pur- 
pose of  her  delineation  stands  revealed, — the  purpose 
of  creating  a  climax  of  hysteria  and  comprehensive 
crash.  Apprised  by  an  adroitly  managed  incident  that 
her  Daniel's  disreputable  father  was  her  mother's 
seducer,  she  discards  Daniel  and  weds  his  rival, — all 
this  with  a  precipitation  that  amazes  both  of  them, — to 
the  inevitable  end  (as  matters  go,  in  plays  of  this  high- 
pressure  kind)  that  Daniel  shall  visit  her,  on  her  bridal 
night,  and  that  both  shall  be  slain  by  her  ruthless, 
implacable  husband.  Thus  the  instructive  Echegaray 
illustrated  in  what  manner  the  completely  irrational 
conduct  of  a  morbid   woman   can   diffuse   misery   and 


MRS.    PATRICK    CAMPBELL  349 

cause  crime, — for  Mariana  might  have  laid  down  her 
Daniel  in  many  different  ways,  without  even  once  taking 
up  her  Pablo,  had  she  been  minded  so  to  do,  and  there 
would  have  been  no  resultant  catastrophe.  The  play 
lacks  movement  and  incident,  and  it  is  more  notable 
for  Ibsenism  of  disquisition  than  for  dramatic  vitality; 
but  it  shows  keen  perception  of  character  and  facile 
skill  in  the  portrayal  of  manners.  Echegaray  has  long 
been  known  as  a  clever  dramatist.  As  a  study  of 
feminine  nature  "Mariana"  is  radically  diseased,  and 
as  a  presentment  of  the  much  abused  passion  of  love  it 
is  a  libel  and  a  caricature.  Such  stuff,  however,  usually 
finds  an  audience:  sentimentalism  is  a  common  malady; 
but,  to  the  healthful  mind,  "Mariana"  seems  very 
much  as  "The  Lady  of  Lyons"  did  to  Artemus  Ward's 
disgusted  Mormon  elder,  who  "arose  and  walked  out, 
with  his  twenty-four  wives,  saying  that  he  would  not  sit 
and  see  a  play  where  a  man  made  such  a  cussed  fuss 
over  one  woman."  It  might  be  added — still  further 
to  employ  the  forcible  language  of  this  saint — that 
there  is  no  special  edification  in  seeing  one  woman 
make  such  a  cussed  fuss  over  herself. 

Mrs.  Campbell's  artistic  display  of  female  fascina- 
tions, as  Mariana,  was  viewed  with  composure.  The 
actress  was  somewhat  mature  for  such  a  part,  but  her 
peculiarities  suited  it,  and  she  embodied  a^  credible 
ideal  of  a  woman  of  many  moods  and  caprices.  The 
part  requires  nerves  rather  than  brains.     To   be   sun- 


350  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

shine  one  moment  and  cloud  the  next,  to  blow  hot  and 
cold,  to  be  proud,  capricious,  irritable,  now  gay  and 
now  rueful,  sometimes  to  repress  excitement  and  some- 
times to  give  it  a  free  way,  and  at  the  last  to  plunge 
headlong  into  delirium, — that  is  to  be  Mariana.  Mrs. 
Campbell  easily  did  this,  and  produced  no  other  effect 
than  that  of  extravagant  theatrical  artifice.  There  is 
no  element  of  nobility  or  charm  in  the  character,  and 
there  was  no  element  of  either  power  or  beauty  in  the 
performance.  There  was  abundance  of  glitter  and  of 
grace  in  it,  associated  with  occasional  sweet,  caressing 
tones  and  momentary  touches  of  demure  mischief;  and 
there  was,  toward  the  last,  a  glimmer  of  pathos.  There 
was  fine  intelligence  in  the  elocution, — more  especially 
in  the  delivery  of  narrative, — and  there  was  a  fervid 
vitality  in  the  impersonation,  evincing  the  sincerity  of 
endeavor  which  always  wins  esteem,  despite  the  fog  and 
folly  of  a  crazy  play. 

"PELLEAS    AND    MELISANDE." 

A  ritual  service  was  duly  said,  on  January  28,  1902, 
at  the  Victoria  Theatre,  New  York,  by  Mrs.  Patrick 
Campbell,  over  the  remains  of  "Pelleas  and  Melisande," 
— two  feeble-minded  persons  untimely  dead,  of  inani- 
tion, at  an  early  age, — and  the  solemn  ceremony  was 
viewed  with  becoming  decorum  by  a  numerous  com- 
pany of  bereaved  and  sorrow-stricken  friends.  Mrs. 
Campbell  appeared  to  be  deeply  affected — so  much  so 


MRS.    PATRICK    CAMPBELL  351 

that  once,  in  the  candor  of  grief,  she  forcibly  exclaimed: 
"I'm  dreadful,  like  this!"  and  there  could  be  no  doubt 
that  her  words  carried  conviction  to  many  suffering 
hearts.  With  reference  to  the  dear  deceased  it  was 
generally  remembered  that  they  had  been  born  to 
troubles,  verbal  no  less  than  amatory,  as  the  sparks 
fly  upward,  and  that  their  demise  was  the  best  thing 
that  ever  happened  to  them — because  it  at  once 
delivered  them  out  of  dire  distress.  When  two 
brothers  love  one  and  the  same  girl,  and  the  girl  gets 
married  to  the  elder  and  subsequently  becomes  enam- 
oured of  the  younger,  finding  him  responsive,  and 
so  making  her  husband  jealous  and  causing  fratricide, 
the  conditions  of  existence,  in  her  family  circle,  are 
strained;  and  that  is  what  had  happened  to  Golaud, 
who  was  Melisande's  husband;  to  Pelleas,  who  was  her 
innocent  lover,  and  to  Melisande  herself.  Recalling 
those  facts,  the  mourners  were  able  to  find  consolation — ■ 
in  spite  of  copious  incidental  dirges,  of  a  kind  well 
calculated   to   produce   green-apple   colic. 

To  speak  gravely,  the  proceedings  of  Mrs.  Camp- 
bell and  her  associates,  in  their  interpretation  of  M. 
Maeterlinck's  insane  drama,  revealed  a  ghastly  spectacle 
of  imbecility.  Whatsoever  things  are  silly,  absurd,  and 
idiotic;  whatsoever  things  are  indicative  of  freakish 
folly  and  mental  aberration, — all  those  things^  concen- 
trate in  the  fantastic  devices  and  the  puerile  style  of  M. 
Maeterlinck's   plays.      Some   of  them,   indeed,   have   no 


352  THE    WALLET    OV    TIME 

meaning  whatever.  In  "Pelleas  and  Melisande"  there  is 
a  thread  of  story,  but  the  thread  is  so  slender,  the  story 
so  trite,  the  incident  so  trivial,  and  the  language  assigned 
to  the  several  interlocutors  so  insipid  that,  at  last,  the 
patience  of  even  the  most  tolerant  auditor  is  over- 
whelmed and  exhausted.  Disciples  of  the  Maeterlinck 
Fad  have,  of  course,  proclaimed  that  his  prodigious 
genius  aims  to  instruct  mankind  by  means  of  "symbols," 
and  that  each  of  his  pictures  secretes  a  vast  and  com- 
prehensive meaning.  It  may  be  so;  but,  to  the  eye  and 
ear  of  sense,  taking  those  pictures  for  what  they  are, 
and  hearing  the  twaddle  with  which  they  are  accom- 
panied, his  symbols  are  about  as  rationally  significant 
as  were  the  vegetable  marrows  with  which  Mrs.  Nickle- 
by's  lunatic  wooer  pelted  that  old  lady,  across  her 
garden  wall. 

Description  could  give  no  adequate  idea  of  the 
absurdity  of  Mrs.  Campbell's  behavior  as  Melisande, — 
a  behavior,  no  doubt,  completely  warranted  by  the  part, 
— and  only  M.  Maeterlinck's  words  can  convey  an 
adequate  idea  of  the  wretched  bathos  of  which  he  is 
capable.  One  law  of  the  Maeterlinck  style  appears  to 
be  that  every  platitude  spoken  shall  be  spoken  twice, 
and,  as  almost  every  speech  is  a  platitude,  the  iteration 
soon  becomes  indeed  damnable.  Of  dramatic  art  in 
the  representation  there  was  not  a  trace,  except  for 
the  acting  of  Mr.  Titheradge,  who  once  or  twice  suc- 
ceeded in   being  impressive,  in  spite   of  the  ridiculous 


MRS.    PATRICK    CAMPBELL  353 

situations  in  which  he  was  placed  and  the  nonsense  that 
he  was  obliged  to  speak.  In  Golaud's  scene  with  a 
child,  for  example,  he  suggested  Leontes,  in  a  passage 
of  "The  Winter's  Tale."  Mr.  Arliss,  in  a  scene  that 
Gilbert  might  have  devised  for  Mr.  BuntJiorne,  posed 
with  a  row  of  five  old  women,  all  dressed  alike,  and 
stated  that  he  had  "heard  flies  crawling  on  the  door" 
but  did  not  know  why  it  was  that  he  wanted  to  go  down 
cellar.  Perhaps  it  was  to  get  some  fly-paper — or,  pos- 
sibly, to  fetch  beer.  Mrs.  Campbell  frequently  said 
that  she  was  "unhappy,"  but  it  was  not  observed  that 
her  suffering  as  Melisande  impeded  her  in  the  display 
of  various  Burne-Jones  gowns  or  in  the  assumption  of 
numerous  church-window  attitudes.  The  meaning  of 
her  impersonation  was  inscrutable.  For  the  most  part, 
the  heroine  appeared  to  be  distraught — and  a  performer 
who  is  distraught,  in  a  Maeterlinck  play,  has  only  to 
look  fixedly  at  nothing  and  to  bleat.  Obstetrical  com- 
plications were  mentioned  as  having  occurred,  toward 
the  close  of  the  farrago;  an  aged  King  produced  an 
infant,  swathed  in  wrappings  of  flannel,  and  Mrs. 
Campbell  died  beautifully,  in  a  beautiful  bed.  It  was 
all  extraordinary,  serving  one  good  purpose,  however, 
in  denoting  a  kind  of  composition  and  of  professional 
conduct  which  should  be  carefully  avoided — because 
nothing  is  more  desirable  in  drama  than  a  total  rejec- 
tion of  freaks  and  fripperies,  and  strict  allegiance  to 
healthful  standards  of  beauty,  simplicity,  and  truth. 


354  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

"AUNT   JEANNIE." 

Mrs.  Campbell  appeared  at  the  Garden  Theatre,  New 
York,  on  September  16,  1902,  in  a  play  called  "Aunt 
Jeannie,"  by  Mr.  E.  F.  Benson,  giving  an  exposition  of 
adroit  feminine  duplicity  and  effective  blandishments, 
and  pleasing  by  a  clever  exhibition  of  eccentric  char- 
acter and  fantastic  art.  In  the  person  of  Aunt 
Jeannie  Mrs.  Campbell  represented  a  tempting  widow 
who  temporarily  tangles  herself  in  a  mesh  of  troubles, 
by  flirting  with  her  niece's  betrothed  lover,  in  order  to 
prevent  that  niece's  marriage  with  a  scamp.  The 
widow's  purpose  is  accomplished, — but  in  the  pursuit 
of  it  she  grieves  her  niece  and  afflicts  her  own  lover,  and, 
for  a  time,  she  suffers  the  usual  consequence  of  virtuous 
self-sacrifice.  The  play,  mildly  ardent  in  its  episode 
of  allurement,  is,  in  the  main,  flabby  and  feeble, — the 
prolix  recital  of  a  sentimental  love  story, — probably  a 
French  novel, — and  destitute  of  movement.  The  story  is 
wildly  irrational.  There  was  no  need  for  the  widow 
to  resort  to  the  indelicate  expedient  of  flirtation:  her 
scheme  is  as  unnecessary  as  it  is  vulgar:  and  there 
was  not  the  slightest  need  of  withholding  her -confidence 
from  the  man  to  whom  she  has  plighted  her  troth. 
The  motive  of  Aunt  Jeannie's  duplicity,  however,  is  a 
virtuous  one, — the  deceiver,  whom  she  dupes,  befools, 
and  exposes,  having  caused  the  miserable  death  of  her 
niece's  sister:  so  that  Aunt  Jeannie,  as  a  character,  is 


From  a  Photograph. 


In  the  Collection  0/  th 


MRS.     PATRICK    CAMPBELL 

as 

Magda,  in  "Magda." 


MRS.    PATRICK    CAMPBELL  355 

neither  immoral  nor  morbid.  In  a  remote  sense  the 
theme  is  analogous  to  that  of  Tennyson's  "Promise 
of  May";  but  the  comedy  is  more  a  study  of  manners 
than  an  emblematic  depiction  of  woman's  wit.  Its  style 
is  dull. 

In  acting  Aunt  Jeannie  Mrs.  Campbell  manifested 
neither  depth  of  feeling  nor  power  of  expression,  yet 
her  acting  was  sincere — the  easy,  zealous  expositure  of 
a  sensitive,  feverish,  nervous  temperament;  sometimes 
sparkling  and  graceful;  often  fantastic;  almost  always 
artificial  with  self-conscious  manner,  even  at  the  highest 
tension  of  excitement.  It  revealed  neither  opulence  of 
emotional  nature  nor  commanding  nobility  of  intellec- 
tual purpose.  The  better  of  its  memorable  attributes 
were  professional  zeal,  sweetness  of  caressing  tone, 
demure  pleasantry,  and  a  finety  intelligent,  though 
often  indistinct,  delivery.  In  the  chief  scene  the  usual 
weapons  of  coquetry  were  employed  with  expert  pro- 
ficiency. Coquetry  is  easy  to  most  clever  women,  and 
they  seldom  refrain  from  amusing  themselves  with  the 
practice  of  it.  Mrs.  Campbell,  as  an  elderly  siren, 
was  effective,  but  neither  bewitchment  nor  singularity 
makes  a  great  actress. 

"THE    JOY   OF    LIVING." 

Sudermann's  concoction  entitled  "The  Joy  of  Liv- 
ing" might,  for  convenience  of  designation,  be  called 
a  play,  because  it  contains  scenes  and  dialogues,   but, 


356  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

practically,  it  is  a  sort  of  pictorial  treatise,  setting  forth 
the  evil  consequences  of  adulterous  incontinence,  and 
moralizing  thereon.  Its  foreign  author, — like  that  other 
erratic  foreigner,  Ibsen, — is  surcharged  with  "views," 
the  mental  fermentation  of  which  results  in  a  sort  of 
theatrical  gas,  and  that  is  occasionally  liberated  from 
the  stage  by  performers  of  the  Bunthome  breed,  who 
can  attract  attention  only  by  means  of  odd  devices  and 
bizarre  expedients,  the  writings  of  cranks  and  the  antics 
of  limes.  In  this  fabric  the  element  of  vital  exhilara- 
tion exudes  in  the  form  of  a  particularly  noisome  case 
of  conjugal  infidelity.  The  spectator  is  apprised  that 
an  elderly  nobleman,  the  Count  von  Kellinghausen,  is 
unsatisfactory  to  his  wife,  the  Countess  Beata,  and  that 
a  youthful  nobleman,  the  Baron  von  Valkerlingk, 
pleases  her  fancy  and  is  entirely  willing  to  provide 
her  with  consolation, — all  the  more  because  he  also  is 
unhappy  in  the  state  of  marriage,  and  is  wishful  to 
taste  the  delights  of  "freedom."  The  posture  of  cir- 
cumstances thus  displayed  is  obviously  simple,  and  it 
is  thought  to  be  dramatic:  a  discontented  wife  enamoured 
of  another  woman's  husband,  and  a  discontented  hus- 
band enamoured  of  another  man's  wife.  Under  such  con- 
ditions in  the  family  circle  many  things  might  happen. 
The  facts  observed  in  this  case  are  that  the  Baron  and 
the  Countess  have  been  lovers  for  twelve  or  fifteen 
years;  that  the  rosy  time  of  their  illicit  behavior  is  far 
behind   them:    that   the  Baron  is   a   sucking   politician, 


MRS.    PATRICK    CAMPBELL  357 

engorged  with  a  tremendous  speech;  that  the  Countess's 
heart-valves  are  out  of  order;  and,  finally,  the  agree- 
ment of  the  Baron  and  the  Countess  to  maintain  a 
platonic  friendship,  and  the  blind  acceptance  with 
which,  for  a  considerable  time,  the  elderly  Count  sub- 
mits to  an  outrageous  imposition,  visible  to  everybody 
but  himself.  The  doings  and  sufferings  of  those  "pla- 
tonic" lovers  and  the  old  Count's  awakening  to  a  clear 
perception  of  the  criminal  treachery  of  his  wife  and 
his  friend  constitute  the  substance  of  the  piece.  The 
ultimate  catastrophe  is  the  suicide  of  the  Countess 
Beata,  who,  like  the  Dinah  of  Mr.  Villikins,  quaffs  "a 
cup  of  cold  pizen"  as  a  pledge  to  "the  Joy  of  Living," 
and  is  medically  declared  to  be  dead  of  heart  failure — a 
fatality  widely  prevalent  in  recent  times. 

Most  of  the  incidents  in  "The  Joy  of  Living"  are 
either  trivial,  absurd,  preposterous,  or  unclean,  and,  as  a 
whole,  it  is  a  prolix  series  of  colloquies,  by  several  groups 
of  interlocutors,  respecting  a  case  of  criminal  concu- 
piscence, and  the  language  is  a  monotonous  trickle  of 
exgurgitated  commonplace,  purling  along  in  a  tumid  flow 
of  inflated  discourse,  spoken  chiefly  by  the  Countess 
Beata.  In  Act  One  it  is  said  that  there  has  been  a 
criminal  relation  between  the  Baron  and  the  Countess, 
and  they  have  united  in  betraying  a  good,  v  worthy, 
kindly,  unsuspecting  gentleman.  In  Act  Two  it  is 
said  that  the  secret  is  struggling  to  disclose  itself.  In 
Act   Three    the   secret   is   avowed   by    both    the   guilty 


858  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

parties,  in  response  to  the  injured  husband's  inquiry. 
In  Act  Four  it  is  said  by  the  Countess  that  she  loves 
and  always  has  loved  her  paramour,  whom  she  hails  as 
her  "discoverer"  and  "deliverer,"  with  much  more  erotic 
fudge  about  her  having  "asserted  the  right  of  self- 
preservation"  in  the  commission  of  adultery.  Seldom 
or  never  has  such  a  farrago  of  rotten  nonsense  been 
uttered  from  the  stage  as  Mrs.  Campbell  enunciated 
in  that  scene  of  hysterical  blather.  The  drift  of  the 
preachment  is  a  sentimental  extenuation  of  conduct  that 
everybody  knows  to  be  wrong.  There  is  a  story  that 
poor  King  George  the  Third,  when  his  insanity  was 
yet  incipent,  would  give  audible  responses  from  the 
royal  pew  in  St.  George's  Chapel,  while  the  service  was 
in  progress,  and  that  once,  when  the  vicar  was  reading 
the  Commandments,  his  majesty  was  heard  to  ejaculate 
approbation  of  each  one  till  the  seventh,  when  the 
royal  voice  astonished  the  congregation  by  an  emphatic 
protest,  crying,  "That's  a  pity!  That's  a  pity!"  That 
would  seem  to  be  the  opinion  of  Sudermann  and  his 
disciples. 

"THE     SORCERESS." 

Sardou's  play  of  "The  Sorceress"  was  presented  at 
the  New  Amsterdam  Theatre,  on  October  10,  1904, 
and  Mrs.  Campbell  assumed  the  chief  part  in  it.  The 
play  is  almost  as  edifying  as  Foxe's  "Book  of  Martyrs," 
and  the  chief  part  is  almost  as  credible  as  Scott's 
"Fenella" — the  only  absurdity  that  the  great  master  of 


MRS.    PATRICK    CAMPBELL  359 

fiction  ever  drew.  Mrs.  Campbell,  who  is  nothing  if  not 
abnormal,  offered  a  variant  of  the  old,  familiar  type  of 
amorous  female  crank,  so  frequent  in  Sardou's  melo- 
dramatic concoctions,  and  so  useful  to  performers  who 
mistake  singularity  for  genius  and  delirium  for  inspira- 
tion, and  she  offered  it  in  her  customary  style,  of 
affected  embellishment  and  vapid  eccentricity. 

The  character  is  a  dusky,  ardent,  female  Moor,  named 
Zoraya,  resident  of  Toledo,  Spain,  at  the  beginning  of 
the  sixteenth  century,  and  occupied  in  dispensing  drugs, 
prosecuting  intrigue,  and  practising  mesmerism.  The 
charms  of  Zoraya  are  irresistible.  She  has  dark,  lustrous 
eyes.  She  has  a  bust  of  what  Browning  calls  "superb 
abundance,"  and  an  expansive  satin  back — the  telescopic, 
giraffe  figure, — the  one  that  undulates.  She  is  a  Venus, 
— and  the  entire  male  population  of  Toledo  is  agitated 
by  her.  Don  Palacois,  in  particular,  a  youth  betrothed 
to  Joana,  daughter  of  the  Governor  of  Toledo,  finds 
his  manly  bosom  rent  with  passion  for  the  enchanting 
mesmerist,  whom  he  meets  by  chance,  in  the  woods, 
and  who  at  once  responds  to  his  wooing,  with  prodigal 
liberality.  The  Don,  however,  must  be  wedded  to  Joana, 
and,  in  order  to  vitiate  the  nuptials, — of  which  she 
obtains  knowledge  after  becoming  Palacois's  concubine, — 
Zoraya  mesmerizes  that  obnoxious  female,  immediately 
after  the  wedding,  and  elopes  with  the  willing  bride- 
groom. Then  the  holy  fathers  of  the  Inquisition  become 
anxious,    and   Zoraya, — confessing    herself    a    witch,    in 


860  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

order  to  save  the  imperilled  life  of  Palacois, — is  con- 
victed of  sorcery  and  condemned  to  death.  Later  the 
Coventor  reprieves  her,  as  a  recompense  for  awakening 
the  sleeping  Joana,  and  she  is  released.  A  furious 
Toledo  mob  then  assails  her;  she  is  defended  by  Palacois, 
at  a  cathedral  door;  and  finally,  further  resistance  being 
impossible,  those  lovers  commit  suicide. 

Sardou's  drama,  aside  from  two  scenes,  is  a  prolix 
medley  of  pretentious  nonsense.  The  passages  relative 
to  the  strangulation  of  an  inquisitorial  agent  and  to 
the  trial  of  Z  or  ay  a  show  good  dramatic  construction, 
suspense,  and  contrast  well  maintained,  and  they  afford 
opportunities  for  acting.  The  rest  is  trash.  Mme. 
Bernhardt,  who  for  some  time  acted  Zoraya,  made  a 
glittering  show  of  feline  vitality  in  it.  Mrs.  Campbell, 
like  Dr.  Johnson's  Panting  Time,  "toils  after  her  in 
vain."  In  this  performer's  acting  the  conspicuous  attri- 
bute was  affectation.  There  was  much  sibilant  vocaliza- 
tion, as  of  a  jubilant  lemon-squeezer.  There  was  much 
self-conscious  posing.  The  moon-eyed  stare  of  ecstasy, 
fixed  on  nothing,  frequently  became  visible.  There  was 
the  contortion  of  anguish,  and  there  was  the  clinging 
clutch  of  desperation:  old  stage  properties,  all  of  them, 
and  readily  at  the  command  of  an  old  stager.  There 
was,  of  course,  the  effort  to  invest  absurdity  with  a 
semblance  of  reason,  but  the  whole  fabric  was  hollow. 
There  was  no  effect  of  sincerity,  and,  consequent^, 
no   illusion.      The   delivery   of  the   vehement   denuncia- 


MRS.    PATRICK    CAMPBELL  361 

tion  of  the  Inquisition  was  voluble,  but  blurred,  only 
partially  articulate,  and,  from  lack  of  innate  dignit3T, 
more  like  scolding  than  passionate  eloquence.  Mrs. 
Campbell  evinced  no  tragic  power.  Acting  should 
impart  something  to  an  audience, — some  treasure  of 
thought,  some  impulse  of  feeling,  some  suggestion  of 
beauty.  Mrs.  Campbell's  acting  imparted  nothing 
beyond  revelation  of  a  morbid  personality.  The  actress, 
nevertheless,  had  her  audience — for  in  America  there  is 
an  audience  for  everything. 

"ELECTRA." 

The  reader  of  "Vanity  Fair"  cannot  have  forgotten 
Thackeray's  description  of  the  entertainment  given  at 
Gaunt  House,  when  Becky  Sharp  figured,  in  the  charade, 
as  the  murderer  of  the  slumbering  Agamemnon:  "her 
arms  are  bare  and  white — her  tawny  hair  floats  down 
her  shoulders — her  face  is  deadly  pale — and  her  eyes 
are  lighted  up  with  a  smile  so  ghastly  that  people  quake 
as  they  look  at  her.  ...  A  Great  Personage  insisted  on 
being  presented  to  the  charming  Clytemnestra.  'Heigh- 
ha?  Run  him  through  the  body.  Marry  somebody  else, 
hay?'  was  the  apposite  remark  made  by  his  Royal 
Highness." 

That  "apposite  remark,"  after  all,  contains  the  essence 
of  the  subject — known  to  scholars,  but  not,  perhaps,  to 
all  readers.  Clytemnestra,  wife  of  Agamemnon,  in  con- 
cert with  her  lover,  JEgisthus,  has  murdered  her  hus- 


862  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

band  and  those  criminals  reign  in  his  place.  Of  the 
three  children  of  Agamemnon, — those  children  being 
Orestes,  Elcctra,  and  Chrysothemis, — only  Chrysothemis 
remains  in  the  palace  of  Argos,  she  being,  somewhat 
ignominiously,  submissive  to  Fate.  Orestes,  absent,  has 
been  reported  dead.  Electro,  is  expelled,  and  all  her 
life  is  devoted  to  grievous  wailing  for  her  departed  sire 
and  to  the  thirst  for  vengeance  upon  his  murderers. 
False  assurance  that  her  brother  Orestes  has  indeed 
perished  aggravates  her  woe  and  largely  augments  both 
the  bulk  of  her  lamentation  and  the  length  of  her 
speeches.  Orestes  presently  returns  to  Argos  and,  to 
the  great  comfort  of  Electra,  he  kills  both  Clytemnestra 
and  JEgisthus.  Later  Orestes  is  pursued  by  furies,  but, 
being  protected  by  Apollo  and  acquitted  at  a  trial  before 
the  Areopagus,  under  the  presidency  of  Minerva,  he  is 
cleared  from  censure.  The  theme  is  set  forth  in  detail 
by  iEschylus,  Euripides,  and  Sophocles, — the  latter  hav- 
ing given  particular  attention  to  the  episode  of  Electra's 
passion,  anguish,  and  avenging  purpose. 

It  was  a  variant  version  of  the  play  of  Sophocles 
that  Mrs.  Campbell  chose  for  theatrical  exposition,  and 
which  she  brought  forth  in  America,  at  the  Garden  The- 
atre, New  York,  on  February  11,  1908.  She  appeared 
as  Electra,  but,  as  she  did  not  possess  the  qualifications 
of  a  tragic  actress,  her  emergence  in  that  part  was  not 
impressive.  In  one  respect  the  character  and  the  performer 
were  found  accordant,  both  being  intrinsically  artificial, 


MRS.    PATRICK    CAMPBELL  363 

— the  predominant  attribute  of  both  being  monotony 
alike  of  condition  and  expression.  Electra,  notwith- 
standing all  her  wailings  for  her  defunct  sire,  is  com- 
pletely concentrated  upon  herself,  forever  prating  about 
her  personal  misfortunes.  The  key-note  of  the  character 
is  self-pity, — not  filial  love, — and  therefore  it  does  not 
awaken  sympathy.  Her  longing  for  her  brother  is  not 
affection  for  him  but  solicitude  for  herself.  She  is  an 
elderly  spinster,  morosely  self-conscious  and  mercilessly 
voluble.  Clyteiiinestra,  if  not  more  agreeable,  is,  at 
least,  sincere;  for,  having  killed  a  husband  whom  she 
disliked,  she  openly  avouches  her  crime.  The  old  Greek 
Tragedies,  in  general,  reek  with  gore  and  smoulder  in 
horror, — a  hideous  blemish  for  which  the  great  beauty 
of  the  original  language  has  always  been  vaunted  as 
redeeming  grace.  Particular  examination  of  them  dis- 
covers that  the  passions  which  they  expose  are,  chiefly, 
lust  and  hate,  impelling  to  actions  of  carnality  and 
ferocity.  It  occurs  to  the  weary  mind  that  it  would 
like,  occasionally,  to  repose  on  something  a  little  more 
conducive  to  peace  than  a  spectacle  of  the  depraved 
operations  of  human  conduct  when  that  conduct  is 
swayed  and  governed  by  animal  propensities. 

Greek  scholars  insist  that  the  spirit  of  Greek  poetry 
never  has  been,  and,  apparently,  never  can  be,  trans- 
muted into  English,  yet  as  often  as  a  translated  Greek 
tragedy  is  presented  on  our  Stage  the  persons  engaged 
in  the  presentment  of  it  persist  in  sending  forth  procla- 


864  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

niations  concerning  it  that  are  couched  in  the  most 
extravagant  language,  as  if  it  were  something  heaven- 
horn,  sacrosanct,  and  supernally  illustrious,  and  their 
bosoms  appear  to  be  lacerated  beyond  medicament  if 
anybody  ventures  to  refer  to  the  subject  in  any  spirit 
other  than  that  of  adoration.  The  fact,  meantime, 
remains  (though  there  is  an  amazing  dread  of  speaking 
the  truth  about  it)  that  English  translations  of  Greek 
tragedies  are  heavy  and  tedious,  and  that  no  present- 
ment has  been  made  of  an  English  translation  of  a 
Greek  tragedy  that  was  not,  in  the  nature  of  things, 
"caviare"  to  the  general  public.  The  best  representa- 
tions of  tragedy  derived  from  the  Greek  which  the 
American  public  has  seen  were  those  of  Ristori  as 
Medee  and  Mounet- Sully  as  (Edipus, — and  those  were 
in  Italian  and  French:  nor  were  those  performances 
fully  appreciable  by  a  large  number  of  persons.  The 
production  of  "Electra"  made  by  Mrs.  Campbell  served 
once  more  to  show  how  dull  an  English  version  of  a 
Greek  play  can  be, — especially  when  it  reaches  the  Eng- 
lish-speaking Stage  by  way  of  the  German,  and  when 
it  bristles,  as  Mr.  Arthur  Symons's  rendering  of  Herr 
Hoefmanthal's  Teutonic  variant  of  iEschylus,  Euripides, 
and  Sophocles  does,  with  such  abominations  as  "one" 
sees,  "one"  does,  "one"  goes,  etc., — and  particularly  it 
served  to  show  how  unsuitable  Mrs.  Campbell  and  her 
associates  were  to  illustration  of  those  Greek  themes 
of    fate,    madness,    torture,    suicide,    parricide,    murder, 


MRS.    PATRICK    CAMPBELL  365 

impending  doom,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  pageantry  of 
horror  in  which  the  Greek  poets  were  wont  to  revel. 

Mrs.  Campbell's  aptitude  and  talents  were  seen  at 
their  best  in  what  may  aptly  be  designated  as  domestic 
melodrama.  In  achieving  publicity  she  imitated  the 
bizarre  methods  of  Sarah  Bernhardt.  In  speaking  she 
imitated  the  golden  voice  of  Ellen  Terry.  As  Electra 
she  pervaded  the  stage,  posing,  gesticulating,  pouring 
forth  a  torrent  of  lachiymose  loquacity,  and  seeming  to 
be  a  kind  of  human  exotic.  She  wore  a  short  dress,  of 
blue-black  color,  on  which  many  patches  had  been  sewn 
to  indicate  squalor  of  condition,  and  likewise  she  wore 
a  black  veil,  which,  from  time  to  time,  she  wreathed 
about  her  head,  so  that  she  could  raise  it  and  extend  it 
and  glare  from  beneath  it,  emitting  strange  sounds. 
Her  arms  and  shoulders, — remarkably  solid,  for  a 
female  supposed  to  be  emaciated  by  suffering, — were 
bare  and  brilliantly  white.  The  display  was  curious  and 
eccentric;  never  in  the  least  sympathetic.  The  merit  of 
the  performance  was  its  power  of  continuity.  Mrs. 
Campbell  was  at  her  best  in  the  longer  speech  to 
Clytemnestra.  The  value  of  her  extensive  professional 
experience  was  shown  in  her  resolute  persistence,  on 
the  occasion  of  the  first  New  York  performance,  in 
several  speeches  of  which  she  was  not  quite  sure  and  in 
her  inveterate  exertion  of  technical  authority. 

In  reviewing  the  professional  proceedings  of  Mrs. 
Campbell,  the  observer  saw  nothing  but  a  long  proces- 


866  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

sion  of  hussies  and  fools,  some  of  them  dissolute  in  con- 
duct and  unsavory  in  repute,  and  all  of  them  morbid 
in  fibre  and  unhealthful  in  influence.  It  almost  seemed 
as  if  that  actress  had  pursued  a  deliberate  purpose  to 
identify  herself  with  the  freaks  of  degenerate  dra- 
matic literature  and  to  become  the  representative  incar- 
nation of  the  detestable  character  and  reprehensible 
conduct  of  bad  women.  Scarcely  a  decent  woman  was 
exemplified  in  the  whole  American  career  of  that  per- 
former. Mrs.  Sang  was  the  best  of  them,  but  Mrs. 
Sang  occurred  in  a  play  of  unspeakable  stupidity,  and 
Mrs.  Sang  was  a  woman  in  bed,  moribund  with  spine 
disease.  Even  Aunt  Jeannie,  in  the  dull  play  of  that 
name,  though  not  depraved,  was  indelicate,  ill-bred,  and 
sexually  vulgar.  A  more  melancholy  record  could 
scarcely  be  imagined;  nor  was  it  brightened  by  display 
of  any  exceptional  talent  in  the  art  of  acting.  Mme. 
Bernhardt  sometimes  made  her  sexual  monsters  interest- 
ing,— wielding  the  lethal  hairpin  or  the  persuasive 
hatchet  with  Gallic  grace  and  sweet  celerity;  but  Mrs. 
Campbell's  trollops  were  suggestive  of  a  sort  of  vicious, 
crazy  giraffe.  In  the  several  Avatars  of  that  performer 
the  American  public  was  provided  with  a  sickening 
excess  of  diseased  emotions,  mephitic  sentimentality, 
and  hysterical  nonsense,  impertinently  offered  as 
"moral  lessons."  The  epigram  commended  to  Queen 
Caroline,  just  after  the  odoriferous  trial  of  that  royal 
person,    seemed    singularly    appropriate    to    Mrs.    Tan- 


MRS.    PATRICK    CAMPBELL  367 

queray,  the  Countess  Beata,  and  the  rest  of  the  degen- 
erate tribe: 

"Most  gracious  Queen,  we  thee  implore 
To  go  away  and  sin  no  more: 
Or,  if  that  effort  is  too  great, 
To  go  away,  at  any  rate." 

And,  thinking  of  the  insufferable  proceedings  of 
Mrs.  Campbell;  especially  of  her  revival  of  "The  Sec- 
ond Mrs.  Tanqueray"  and  of  the  almost  coincident  pre- 
sentment of  Pinero's  vicious  "Iris,"  as  well  as  of  the 
vapid  personality  and  crude,  affected,  tedious,  preten- 
tious performances  of  her  principal  American  associate, 
Mr.  John  Blair,  that  appeal  was,  by  me,  supplemented 
thus: 

And,  further  to  relieve  our  care, 
Be  pleased  to  capture  Mr.  Blair, — 
Conveying  him  across  the  main, — 
And  never  visit  us  again ! 
For  we  are  weary  of  the  mess 
Of  tainted  females  in  distress, — 
The  coarse,  unlovely,  long  parades 
Of  Arthur  Wing   Pinero's  jades, — 
And  there  is  nothing  we  could  spare 
So  well  as  you  and  Mr.  Blair. 


XIII. 

LAURENCE   IRVING    IN    AMERICA. 

"If  white  and  black  blend,  soften,  and  unite 
A  thousand  ways,  is  there  no  black  or  white?" 

• — Pope. 

Laurence  Irving,  second  son  of  Henry  Irving,  came 
to  America  for  the  first  time  in  1899,  as  a  member 
of  the  theatrical  company  of  his  great  father,  and  he 
also  acted  here,  in  that  association,  in  1901-'02,  and  in 
1903-'04.  He  is  well  known  both  as  dramatist  and 
actor.  His  plays  are  "Godefroi  and  Yolande,"  "Rich- 
ard Lovelace,"  "Peter  the  Great,"  "The  Fool  Hath 
Said,  'There  Is  No  God,'  '  and  the  adapted  translations 
of  Sardou's  "Robespierre"  and  "Dante."  If  Laurence 
Irving  had  done  nothing  else  his  remarkable  play  of 
"Peter  the  Great," — which  his  father  produced  and 
acted  in,  at  the  London  Lyceum  Theatre,  January  1, 
1898, — would  have  demonstrated  his  extraordinary 
ability.  It  is  more  than  unfortunate,  it  is  lamentable, 
that  a  man  of  such  exceptional  talent  should  have  mis- 
taken the  province  of  the  Theatre  as  he  has  done,  and 
undertaken  to  reform  mankind  and  improve  society  by 
the  singular  process  of  presenting  on   the   Stage  some 

368 


LAURENCE   IRVING    IN    AMERICA    369 

of  the  most  noxious  subjects  and  repulsive  spectacles 
which  have  been  obtruded  there  in  our  time.  Mr. 
Irving's  first  missionary  endeavor  was  made  with 
"Godefroi  and  Yolande,"  which  Henry  Irving,  swayed 
by  paternal  partiality,  produced,  in  Chicago,  March  13, 
1896,  and  at  Abbey's  Theatre,  New  York,  on  May  4, 
following,  and  in  which  Ellen  Terry  appeared,  as 
Yolande. 

"GODEFROI    AND    YOLANDE." 

That  play  relates  to  a  mediaeval  time  and  it  aims  at 
weirdness  of  character.  The  following  is  a  synopsis  of 
its  contents: 

Yolande  is  a  courtesan,  in  the  time  of  Philippe,  sur- 
named  "Le  Bel,"  King  of  France.  She  holds  her  court, 
and  many  distinguished  persons  are  her  followers. 
Godefroi,  her  clerk,  a  man  of  lowly  birth,  loves  her, 
but  she  views  him  merely  as  a  servant.  The  play  opens 
on  a  night  of  storm.  Without  the  castle  all  is  wild,  but 
within,  in  a  spacious  hall,  the  ruddy  light  from  the 
fireplace  and  the  gleam  of  torches  make  a  scene  of 
comfort.  The  attendants,  preparing  for  a  festival,  are 
decorating  the  hall  with  garlands.  Yolande  calls  aloud 
and  often,  and  her  maids  go  to  her  and  return,  again 
and  again.  Yolande  is  ill,  and  Godefroi  has  been  sent 
for  a  doctor.  A  poor,  blind  woman,  led  by  a  child, 
enters  the  hall.  These  are  the  mother  and  sister  of 
Godefroi.    A  Doctor  comes  in  and  sings  as  follows: 


370  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

"Merry  old  skeleton,  flesh  underlying, 
Living  or  dying, 
Laughing  or  crying — 
Merry  old  skull ! 
Flesh  may  fall  in, 
Old  skull  still  doth  grin, 
Grin,  skull !  grin,  skull !  grin — grin,  skull — 
Grin— Grin !" 

The  maids  watch  him  fearfully  as  he  goes  to  the 
fireplace  and  brushes  the  snow  from  his  garments. 
Godefroi  enters,  and,  seeing  his  mother  and  sister, 
embraces  them  tenderty,  inquiring  the  cause  of  their 
coming.  "To  take  you  away  from  here,  my  son,"  the 
mother  replies.  Godefroi  is  summoned  to  Yolande's' 
presence.  The  Doctor'  and  the  attending  women  dis- 
cuss her  illness  and  Godefroi  s  infatuation,  and  Megarde, 
Godefroi  s  mother,  who,  being  blind,  fears  not  the 
Doctor,  as  do  others  who  see  him,  confides  in  him.  The 
Pageant,  or  Masque,  to  be  celebrated,  has  been  written 
by  Godefroi,  and  it  is  said  by  one  of  the  waiting  women 
that  Philippe,  the  King,  and  the  King's  brother,  the 
Archbishop,  will  be  present.  A  scene  between  Godefroi 
and  his  mother  ensues,  in  which  the  former  discloses  his 
love  for  Yolande;  but  the  mother  conquers,  and  Gode- 
froi promises  to  leave  the  scene  of  his  infatuation. 
Yolande  enters,  queenlike,  impetuous,  and  cruel.  She  is 
uneasy  at  what  she  has  learned  from  the  Doctor,  and  she 
vents   her  impatience   on   Godefroi,   bidding  him   drive 


LAURENCE    IRVING    IN    AMERICA    871 

forth  into  the  storm  his  mother  and  sister.  Lepers  come 
to  the  gates  of  Yolande' s  castle  and  she  sends  her  menials 
to  drive  them  away.  Then  arrive  Sir  Sagramour,  courier 
of  King  Philip pe,  and  the  Archbishop,  and  in  a  conver- 
sation with  the  Doctor  the  knight  shows  that  he  under- 
stands the  terrible  plagues  of  the  East.  "And  could 
you  know  a  leper  by  the  touch  or  look — say,  of  the 
hand?"  asks  the  Doctor.  "Indeed,  I  could,"  replies 
Sir  Sagramour.  The  Masque  is  now  in  progress,  and 
Yolande  appears  as  Venus.  Sir  Sagramour  claims  to 
kiss  her  hand,  and  the  King  and  the  Archbishop  would 
follow  him,  when,  just  as  Sir  Sagramour  is  about  to 
touch  his  lips  to  it,  he  gazes  at  her  intently,  cries  aloud, 
rushes  to  the  King  and  the  Archbishop  to  prevent  their 
approach  to  Yolande,  and,  amid  a  fearful  tumult,  declares 
her  to  be  a  leper;  whereupon  the  Doctor  cries  out,  "Aye! 
She  is  stricken  with  leprosy!"  The  populace  demands 
that  Yolande  shall  remove  her  mask,  and  as  she  does 
so  she  is  anathematized  by  the  King,  the  Archbishop,  and 
the  people.  All  rush  from  her  presence,  except  the 
despised  clerk,  who  now  avows  his  love.  Yolande  cries, 
"Perish  my  body,  so  my  soul  survives."  The  lepers 
call  for  their  "sister";  the  King's  officer,  with  a  gray 
garment,  the  badge  of  leprosy,  and  a  bell  which  the 
lepers  must  ring,  comes  upon  the  scene  and  attempts  to 
drive  her  out.  Godefroi  alone  supports  her.  Yolande 
yields  to  him,  and  they  depart  together,  while  the  cur- 
tain falls  to  the  sound  of  distant  voices  of  lepers  crying, 


872  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

"Unclean!     Unclean!"  —an  apt  and  comprehensive  com- 
ment  <>n   the  subject. 

Upon  Ellen  Terry's  embodiment  of  Yolande  the 
remembrance  of  those  who  best  understand  and  most 
appreciate  her  fine  genius, — in  which  were  blended,  as 
they  have  seldom  or  never  before  been  blended  in  one 
person,  the  constituents  of  poetry,  spirituality,  and 
humanity, — lingers  with  deep  regret.  Not  that  the 
performance  was  deficient  in  either  imagination,  sensi- 
bility, physical  loveliness,  dramatic  art,  or  personal 
charm, — but  because  of  natural  objection  to  stage  por- 
trayal of  the  grossness  inherent  in  the  character. 
Yolande  is  an  image  of  moral  turpitude  combined  with 
loathsome  physical  disease,  and  no  matter  how  well 
depicted  she  must,  in  the  essential  nature  of  things,  be 
obnoxious  to  those  who  are  able  to  comprehend  the 
meaning  of  what  they  see.  Nothing  that  is  said  or 
done  by  her  counts  for  the  value  of  a  straw  in  redeem- 
ing her.  She  means  nothing  in  art,  beyond  a  fleeting 
picture  of  terrified  dismay,  and  she  means  nothing  in 
ethics  beyond  the  hackneyed  bugbear  of  a  "frightful 
example."  Such  a  part  is  completely  superfluous  on  the 
Stage — and  it  is  as  far  beneath  the  genius  .of  such  a 
woman  as  Ellen  Terry  as  the  wastes  of  a  quagmire 
are  beneath  the  stars.  There  was,  apparently,  in  the 
young  dramatist's  mind,  when  he  wrote  his  play  of 
"Godefroi  and  Yolande,"  some  idea  of  illustrating  and 
extolling   the   celestial   heroism   which   impelled   Father 


LAURENCE    IRVING    IN    AMERICA    373 

Damien  (1840-1888)  to  sacrifice  himself  by  going 
among  lepers  and  casting  his  lot  with  them,  in  order 
to  win  their  souls  to  the  faith  which  he  believed  essential 
to  the  salvation  of  their  souls.  That  idea,  abstractly  con- 
sidered, is  noble,  but  the  moment  it  becomes  mingled, — 
as  in  Mr.  Irving's  play, — with  a  man's  physical  passion 
for  a  woman  it  is  desecrated. 

"THE    INCUBUS." 

During  the  season  of  1903-'09  Laurence  Irving,  accom- 
panied by  his  wife,  known,  professionally,  as  Mabel 
Hackney,  came  to  America  and  presented  in  Music 
Halls  a  version  of  "Grangoire,  or  the  Ballad  Monger," 
in  which  he  acted  King  Louis  the  Eleventh,  Miss  Hack- 
ney acting  Grangoire.  The  publicly  avowed  purpose 
of  that  undertaking  was  to  earn  money  with  which  to 
adventure  in  the  legitimate  Theatre.  On  April  27  and 
30,  1909,  Mr.  Irving  presented,  at  the  Hackett  Theatre, 
New  York,  an  English  translation,  called  "The  Incubus," 
made  by  himself,  of  a  French  play  by  M.  Eugene 
Brieux,  entitled  "Les  Hannetons."  The  title  of  Mr. 
Irving's  translation  proved  to  be  well  chosen.  "The 
Incubus"  afforded  one  more  illustration  of  a  widely 
prevalent  and  deplorable  tendency,  in  contemporary 
dramatic  writing,  toward  analysis  of  morbid  themes  and 
of  the  complications  sequent  on  vicious  conduct.  The 
spirit  of  it  is  cynical,  the  satire  sarcastic.  The  fable 
relates  that  an  elderly  Professor  has  involved  himself 


374  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

in  an  intrigue  with  an  insistent,  selfish,  vulgar  young 
woman,  and  that,  after  five  years  of  domestic  inter- 
course,  he  has  become  heartily  sick  of  her  society,  while 
she,  in  turn,  has  become  more  or  less  weary  of  him. 
The  Professor's  "incubus,"  Charlotte  by  name,  compro- 
mises herself  with  a  veterinary  doctor,  who  has  been 
called  in  to  administer  remedies  to  her  sick  dog.  The 
Professor  seizes  the  fair  opportunity  to  get  rid  of  her, 
but  fails  in  his  purpose.  The  young  woman  jumps  into 
the  Seine,  under  circumstances  that  insure  her  rescue, 
leaving,  on  the  shore,  a  sentimental  letter,  containing 
the  Professor's  address,  so  that,  when  snatched  from  a 
watery  grave,  she  is  promptly  conveyed  back  to  her 
erudite  paramour.  The  piece  amounts  to  nothing  more 
than  a  satirical  exposition  of  an  unpleasant  mess,  and 
it  is  difficult  to  understand  why  it  should  ever  have  been 
written  or  ever  produced.  Mr.  Irving  acted  in  it,  giving 
a  performance  notable  for  clarity  of  ideal,  personal  dis- 
tinction, and  elocutionary  skill,  but  barren  of  anything 
more  than  technical  utility. 

"THE    THREE    DAUGHTERS    OF    M.    DUPONT." 

Mr.  Irving  came  again  to  America  in  the  fall  of 
1909,  and  travelled  through  the  country,  giving  per- 
formances of  "The  Incubus"  under  a  new  name, — "The 
Affinity."  In  the  spring  of  1910  he  returned  to  New 
York,  and,  on  April  13,  at  the  Comedy  Theatre, 
presented  a  translation  of  another  play  by  M.  Brieux, 


LAURENCE    IRVING    IN    AMERICA    375 

called  "The  Three  Daughters  of  M.  Dupont."  Before 
producing  that  play  Mr.  Irving  seemed  to  think  it 
necessary  to  defend  and  justify  his  course  as  manager 
and  actor,  and,  speaking  publicly,  before  the  Lotos 
Club  of  New  York,  he  said: 

"Gentlemen,  I  must  say  myself,  when  I  hear  all  this  about  the 
prurient  drama,  I  perhaps  am  a  little  in  the  dark.  Mr.  Lee 
Shubert  is  here  at  my  side."  [Mr.  Lee  Shubert  was  associated 
with  Mr.  Irving  in  the  presentation  of  "The  Three  Daughters."] 
"In  a  sense  I  have  been  a  play-builder.  I  don't  quite  know  what 
prurient  drama  is.  I  do  know  that  one-fourth  of  Shakespeare's 
works  cannot  be  spoken  in  public,  and  I  consider  'The  Merry 
Widow'  a  highly  deleterious  entertainment.  ...  It  does 
seem  to  me  that  the  difference  is  that  whereas  formerly  the  dram- 
atists Avrote  the  lines  that  were  humbly  followed,  the  dramatists 
now,  the  greatest  modern  dramatists,  deal  with  the  fundamental 
questions  of  life  in  a  sterner  fashion  and  handle  them  as  a  part  of 
their  scheme,  and  as  conveying  a  moral  which  they  desire  to  im- 
press; and  from  all  I  hear  and  from  all  I  read  I  don't  think  that 
those  morals  were  at  any  time  more  in  need  of  being  impressed 
than  at  present. 

"Well,  I  am  afraid  that  what  I  am  saying,  after  the  eloquent 
words  we  have  heard,  may  seem  rather  brusque,  but  I  think  that 
before  the  drama  can  again  spread  its  wings  and  reach  the  great 
height  it  had  reached  under  the  inspiration  of  Shakespeare,  we 
must,  as  Eugene  Walter  has  done  in  America,  Rostand  in  France, 
and  Shaw  in  England,  keep  close  to  life,  and  we  must  examine  the 
dark  corners  before  we  can  illumine  [sic']  the  lighter  ones." 

As  a  specimen  of  flatulent  nonsense  that  deliverance, 
I  believe,  is  unique.  The  statement  as  to  the  works  of 
Shakespeare  is,  manifestly,   false  and  foolish.     Every- 


376  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

body  who  knows  anything  about  dramatic  literature 
knows  thai  even  the  best  works  of  the  old  dramatists 
tnii lain  sonn.'  passages  unfit  for  use  in  modern  represen- 
tation. But  it  is  not  true  that  "one-fourth  of  the  works 
of  Shakespeare  cannot  be  spoken  in  public,"  nor  is  it 
true  that  reasonable  objection  can  be  made  to  the 
public  speaking  of  even  one-fourteenth  of  the  works 
of  Shakespeare.  Rank  plays  have  long  existed.  It 
needs  no  ghost  come  from  the  grave,  nor  any  itinerant 
actor  come  from  London,  to  tell  us  that.  Degeneracy 
in  the  drama  is  not  a  modern  movement.  It  is  notable, 
however,  that  from  the  time  when  Pinero's  play  of 
'The  Second  Mrs.  Tanqueray"  was  launched  upon  our 
Stage  the  dramatic  current  has  been  running  steadily 
and  with  renewed  force  toward  a  literal,  brazen,  shame- 
less portrayal  of  depraved  persons,  iniquitous  conduct, 
and  vile  social  conditions.  Pinero  is  a  dramatist  of 
brilliant  ability.  His  incursions  into  the  social  sewers 
have  been  attended  by  ample  pecuniary  success.  Other 
writers,  American  as  well  as  English,  speedily  followed 
his  example.  The  list  of  impure  plays  that  have  seen 
the  light  would  be  a  long  one.  The  stage  has  been 
disgraced  by  the  putrescent  "Sapho"  of  Mr. -Fitch,  the 
monstrous  "Salome"  of  Oscar  Wilde, — commingling 
mania  with  foulness, — and  Eugene  Walter's  photo- 
graphic abomination  of  "The  Easiest  Way."  Vileness 
has  crept  in  where  it  could  least  have  been  expected. 
Even    in    the    New    Theatre — an    institution    which,    it 


LAURENCE    IRVING    IN    AMERICA    377 

was  promised  and  understood,  would  be  devoted,  exclu- 
sively, to  the  best  dramatic  art — a  crude,  pointless,  useless, 
tainted  play,  called  "The  Nigger,"  a  tissue  of  imperti- 
nent prattle  about  the  terrible  subject  of  miscegenation 
in  the  Southern  States  of  the  Union — took  its  place  in 
the  regular  repertory  of  the  house,  and  was  received 
as  a  mere  matter-of-course  incident,  notwithstanding 
that  it  contains  one  of  the  most  revolting  scenes  (that 
of  the  struggle  between  the  "nigger"  and  the  white 
woman)  that  have  been  acted  on  any  stage  or  before 
any  audience  assumed  to  be  composed  of  well-bred, 
cultivated,  self-respecting  persons.  Public  tolerance, 
not  to  say  approbation,  of  such  spectacles  is  of 
sorrowful  significance.  Those  presentments,  and  others 
of  their  kindred,  have  never  done  any  good,  but, 
inevitably,  have  done  evil.  In  the  particular  instance 
of  "The  Nigger"  the  utter  futility  of  all  such  exhibi- 
tions was  especially  exemplified:  for,  after  the  hor- 
rible scene  had  been  enacted  and  the  lowered  lights  were 
turned  up,  the  spectators,  and  especially  the  women  in 
the  boxes,  were  seen  to  be  quite  radiant  with  smiles, 
eager  and  animated  in  conversation,  well  pleased,  and, 
apparently,  in  no  way  seriously  impressed  by  the  terrible 
theme  presented  to  their  notice,  or  offended  by  the 
brutality  of  the  theatrical  situation  which  had  been 
set  before  them,  or  incensed  by  the  revolting  physical 
literalness  of  the  performance  they  had  seen. 

Soon    after    that    disgraceful    exhibition    came    Mr. 


;J7S  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

Irving,  a  man  of  fine  and  various  talents,  a  scholar, 
an  actor  of  authority  and  of  decisive  ability,  with  the 
prestige  of  the  most  illustrious  name  in  all  the  long 
history  of  the  Stage — and  produced  "The  Three 
Daughters  of  M.  Dupont,"  representative  of  nothing 
except  that  which  is  sordid  and  base  in  human  nature 
and  domestic  life,  and  remarkable  only  for  one  exceed- 
ingly disgusting  scene,  in  which  husband  and  wife,  after 
abusing  each  other  in  coarsely  recriminative  language, 
some  of  which  is  unfit  to  be  heard  and  should  not  be 
spoken,  engage  in  a  sort  of  human  cat-fight,  snorting 
and  snarling,  upsetting  the  furniture,  and  presenting 
an  odious  spectacle  of  vulgarity;  the  woman,  finally, 
biting  the  man,  and  the  man  then  hurling  the  woman 
upon  a  lounge: — and  this  was  set  forth  as  Acting.  Such 
it  may  have  been  in  respect  to  mere  technicality,  which, 
alone,  is  absolutely  futile.  It  was  accurate,  but  it  pre- 
sented only  the  appearance  of  wanton  savagery.  Yet 
a  gentleman  was  found  to  authorize  such  behavior,  and 
a  gentlewoman  was  found  to  submit  to  such  treatment, 
as  a  requirement  of  "Art":  and  the  audience — large, 
fashionable,  and,  apparently,  cultivated — seemed  neither 
shocked  nor  even  surprised.  It  does  not  signify  that 
several  vulgarians  are  correctly  delineated  in  that  play: 
that  feat  has  been  accomplished  thousands  of  times;  its 
accomplishment  is  not  in  any  way  remarkable;  and, 
unless  it  leads  to  some  beneficial  result,  its  accomplish- 
ment is  completely  abortive.    It  does  not  signify,  either, 


LAURENCE    IRVING    IN    AMERICA    379 

that  two  pairs  of  swindlers  have  grotesquely  or  comically 
overreached  themselves  as  well  as  each  other,  and  that 
the  "marriage  of  convenience"  has  been  declared  rep- 
rehensible. All  that  is  moss)'  with  age  and  mildewed 
with  tediousness.  The  gist  of  the  matter  is  a  marital 
quarrel — the  wife  proclaiming  her  desire,  and  right, 
to  bear  children,  and  the  husband  declaring  that  she 
shall  not  be  permitted  to  do  so.  A  pleasant,  delicate 
theme,  truly,  for  a  mixed  audience,  of  all  ages  and 
conditions,  to  see  illustrated  and  to  hear  "discussed" 
in  a  theatre — the  "discussion"  taking  the  form  of  much 
commonplace,  vulgar  colloquy,  and  culminating  in  a 
brutal  brawl. 

Every  person  who  has  thought  on  the  subject  is 
aware  that  marriages  often  prove  unfortunate  and 
cause  unhappiness;  that  the  customs  of  marriage, 
which  vary  in  different  nations,  are  nowhere  perfect; 
and  that  the  laws  affecting  parties  to  the  marriage 
contract  are,  in  various  places  and  in  various  ways, 
defective.  The  institution  of  marriage,  however,  as 
it  exists,  is  the  best  that,  hitherto,  has  been  devised 
for  the  conservation  of  civilized  society,  and  the  intel- 
ligence of  civilized  society  is  not  looking  to  the  Stage 
for  any  improvement  of  it — which  is,  indeed,  fortunate, 
for  it  would  look  in  vain.  Such  plays  as  "The  Three 
Daughters  of  M.  Dupont,"  and  indeed  all  plays  that 
are  designed  to  implicate  and  disseminate  doctrine  as 
to   marriage,    are    superfluous;    and    many    such    plays 


380  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

are  grossly  obnoxious,  alike  to  good  judgment,  good 
feeling,  and  good  taste.  The  tendency  of  these  theatrical 
"doctrinaires,"  invariably,  is  toward  something  that  they 
call  "naturalism" — their  manifest  desire  being,  as  Mr. 
Boyesen  declared  his  adored  Ibsen's  desire  was,  "to 
break  down  the  code  of  traditional  ethics."  This 
poisonous  sophistry  has  conspicuously  shown  itself,  of 
late  years,  in  poetry  and  novels,  no  less  than  in  plays. 
There  are  certain  authors  who  "put  themselves  into  the 
trick  of  singularity,"  assume  anomalous  mental  attitudes, 
contravene  established  principles  of  morality  and  taste, 
and,  with  a  flamboyant  pretentiousness  of  originality, 
misuse  the  arts — disseminating  bizarre  notions,  well  cal- 
culated, if  they  could  prevail,  to  demoralize  the  whole 
social  system.  It  is  from  authors  of  that  class,  and 
from  their  confederates  (some  of  whom  are  actors  and 
theatrical  managers)  and  from  their  befuddled  votaries, 
that  the  public  hears  of  "Emancipated  Literature,"  "The 
Independent  Theatre,"  and  "The  Drama  of  Ideas." 
Those  apostles  of  mental  and  moral  dilacerationi 
obviously  desire  that  society  should  reorganize  itself) 
upon  a  basis  of  principles  (or  no  principles)  which  \ 
represent  reversion  to  the  primitive  state  of  man. 
There  is  no  other  apparent  way  of  interpreting  their 
mischievous  ebullitions — for  this  is  a  fair  statement 
of  the  sum  of  their  doctrine: 

Man  is  an  animal;  his  animal   instincts  are  natural; 
whatever   is    natural   is   right;   those   natural    instincts,, 


LAURENCE    IRVING    IN    AMERICA    381 

being  right,  ought  to  be  followed,  without  regard  to 
"artificial  restraints."  Spiritual  promptings  are 
symptoms  of  debility.  Religion  is  superstition.  The 
institution  of  marriage,  as  now  constituted,  is,  in  par- 
ticular, a  grievous  obstacle  to  Nature,  because  an  artifi- 
cial restraint  upon  the  fulfilment  of  those  splendid 
desires  which  are  a  natural  proclivity  of  the  human 
race  and  its  crowning  glory.  A  chaste  woman  is,  neces- 
sarily, a  vapid  dullard.  A  virtuous  man  is,  necessarily, 
a  contemptible  milksop.  The  words  "chaste"  and  "virt- 
uous" are  terms  invented,  by  bigotry,  to  designate  a 
bondage  enjoined  and  maintained  by  foolish  social  law. 
A  human  being  attains  to  the  highest  pitch  of  nobility 
possible  to  our  mortal  state  when  enthralled  and  domi- 
nated by  amatory  emotion.  Literature,  and,  in  par- 
ticular, Dramatic  Literature,  should  never  be  "anti- 
naturalistic,"  and  should  proceed  not  from  the  genial 
intellect,  but  from  the  impulse  of  lawless  animal  pas- 
sion; and  Poetry,  since  it  is  the  supreme  vehicle  of 
expression,  should  be  the  explosive  eloquence  of  erotic 
frenzy. 

As  applied  to  the  administration  of  the  Stage  (and 
they  have  been  liberally  so  applied)  those  doctrines 
signify  that  the  province  of  the  Theatre  is  to  supple- 
ment the  police  court;  to  portray  the  clinic,  the  jail, 
and  the  madhouse;  to  show  "life  as  it  is" — with  the 
preliminary  assumption  that  "life  as  it  is"  reeks 
with  disease  and  iniquity.     According  to  that  standard, 


.382  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

the  need  of  the  Stage  (and  of  the  public)  is  "strong 
meat" — succulent,  gory,  "fit  food  for  strong  men." 
All  decent  drama  is  only  "milk  for  babes,"  and  all 
persons  who  think  otherwise — who  contend  for  "the 
modesty  of  nature,"  for  decency,  for  the  sanctity  of 
the  individual,  for  purity  in  art,  and  for  spiritual 
impulse  toward  nobleness  of  thought  and  conduct — are 
"bourgeois  sentimentalists."  In  the  mean  time  the  fact 
is  that,  under  these  and  other  malign  influences,  the 
Theatre  has  been  much  degraded.  In  itself  it  is  a  good 
institution,  and,  when  rightly  conducted,  it  can  be  made 
subservient  to  noble  purposes  and  diffusive  of  an 
immense  power  for  good;  but  to-day  it  has,  through 
the  pernicious  industry  of  the  purveyors  of  theatrical 
garbage,  most  shamefully  been  brought  to  such  a  pass 
that,  actually,  it  cannot  be  comprehensively  observed 
and  intelligently  discussed  except  by  persons  who  first 
take  the  trouble  to  acquaint  themselves,  to  some  extent 
at  least,  with  criminology  and  nosology;  and  often  it 
compels  a  plea  not  only  for  morality,  but  for  common 
decency. 

Some  works  that  treat,  in  the  cold  language  of 
science,  of  the  disorders,  physical  and  mental,  that 
impel  to  aberrancy  or  depravity  or  madden  to  crime 
are,  by  law,  not  permitted  to  be  sold  to  the  general 
public,  and  cannot  be  obtained  except  by  lawyers  and 
physicians;  yet  literal  exhibitions  are  not  infrequently 
made,  on  the  stage,  of  that  very  disorder,  aberrancy,  or 


LAURENCE    IRVING    IN    AMERICA    383 

depravity  the  causes  and  analysis  of  which  are,  by  law, 
excluded  from  the  public  access;  and  it  is  equally  amaz- 
ing and  deplorable  that  many  persons  who,  apparently, 
are  reputable  members  of  society  and  denizens  of  virt- 
uous homes  do  actually  pay  for  the  opportunity  to 
see  such  conduct  and  hear  such  language  in  the  The- 
atre as  should  revolt  a  decent  mind,  and  such  as,  not 
infrequently,  would  warrant  a  call  for  the  interference 
of  the  police  to  prevent  its  continuance.  The  success 
of  some  theatres  in  New  York,  which  have,  practically, 
adopted  the  fashion  of  certain  notorious  "show"  dives 
in  Paris,  can  be  understood;  but  it  is  not  entirely  easy 
to  understand  the  acceptance,  by  seemingly  well-bred, 
cultivated  persons,  in  large  numbers,  of  plays  which 
relate,  in  the  baldest  manner,  to  obnoxious  subjects,  and 
which  illustrate  the  presentment  of  those  subjects  by 
actions  and  colloquies  that  are  grossly  indelicate  or 
openly  indecent — unless  the  reason  is  discovered  in 
Pope's  lines: 

"Vice  is  a  monster  of  so  frightful  mien, 
As,  to  be  hated,  needs  but  to  be  seen ; 
Yet  seen  too  oft,  familiar  with  her  face, 
We  first  endure,  then  pity,  then  embrace." 

That  "monster"  certainly  has  been  seen  with  sufficient 
frequency  on  the  New  York  Stage  to  have  become 
familiar,  and  if  endurance  of  her  companionship  be  all 
that  is  essential  to  inspire  the  pity  that  is  akin  to  love, 


38-t  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

then    it    can    be    understood   that   the   public   lias   ample 
reason  for  having  become  enamoured  of  her  foulness. 

Abundant  opportunity  has  been  afforded  for  public 
inspection  of  "the  seamy  side"  of  life.  Consideration 
may  well  be  bestowed  on  a  question  of  vital  importance, 
equally  to  the  Public  and  the  Stage:  Where  shall  the 
line  be  drawn?  It  is  not  prudery  that  protests  against 
the  fabrics  of  theatrical  writing  which  that  admirable 
actor  and  mature  and  wise  thinker  Mr.  Forbes-Robert- 
son (in  a  speech,  at  the  Lotos  Club,  preceding  Mr. 
Laurence  Irving)  rightly  designated  "the  prurient 
drama";  it  is  common  sense;  it  is  reverent  devotion  to 
the  great  art  of  acting,  and  therewithal  an  abiding 
confidence  in  the  Theatre  as  a  potent  social  institution, 
naturally  of  great  beneficence  to  the  community;  it  is 
rational,  inveterate  opposition  to  decadence  in  dramatic 
art; — not  decadence  from  any  standard,  actual  or  fanci- 
ful, of  writing  or  acting,  in  any  period  of  the  Past, 
but  decadence  from  the  plain,  simple,  truthful,  right 
standard  of  good  morals  and  good  taste  in  the  Present. 
The  welfare  of  society  does  not  require  that  the  Theatre 
should  concern  itself  with  admonitory  illumination  of 
"the  dark  places"  of  the  social  system.  The  Press,  day 
by  day,  attends, — and  attends  far  too  minutely, — to  that 
branch  of  illumination,  and  the  Courts  are  continuously 
industrious,  as  they  are  obliged  to  be,  in  the  same 
afflictive  employment.     The  public  has  no  need  of  the- 


LAURENCE    IRVING    IN    AMERICA    385 

atrical  documents  about  miscegenation,  "marriages  of 
convenience,"  cellular  pathology,  hereditary  disease, 
functional  disorders,  and  physical  and  mental  aberrancy. 
It  is  not  as  a  place  exclusively  for  the  much-mentioned 
"young  person"  that  the  Theatre  is  advocated;  but  the 
Theatre  should  be — and  as  such  it  is  advocated — a  place 
to  which  persons  of  all  ages  and  of  all  classes  can  repair, 
with  the  full  assurance  that  they  will  neither  be  nause- 
ated by  vice  nor  insulted  by  specious  extenuation  of 
immorality.  It  does  not  seem  unreasonable  to  urge 
that  the  same  spirit  of  refinement  which,  among  decent 
persons,  is  peremptory  in  private  life  should  be  respected 
and  maintained  in  assemblies  of  the  public.  In  the  vast 
population  of  the  United  States  there  must,  necessarily, 
exist  a  prodigious  variety  of  tastes,  and,  accordingly,  the 
popularity  of  many  kinds  of  theatrical  exhibition  is  com- 
prehensible. The  Theatre  requires  the  support  of  the 
multitude  and  could  not  long  exist  without  it.  The 
favor  of  the  multitude,  accordingly,  must  be  sought — 
though  there  are  limits,  often  disregarded,  beyond  which 
no  theatrical  suitor  for  the  popular  approval  is  entitled 
to  pass.  But  intellect  should  lead,  not  follow,  and  it  is 
in  alluring  the  multitude  to  wish  for  what  it  ought  to 
have  that  a  theatrical  manager  manages,  and  thus  dis- 
criminates himself  from  the  mere  unscrupulous  specu- 
lator in  theatrical  wares — the  huckster  who,  willing  to 
present  fine  and  true  drama  "if  it  will  pay,"  does  not 
hesitate  to  debauch  the  Stage  for  the  sake  of  profit,  just 


886  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

as  the  dishonest  manufacturer  does  not  hesitate  to  make 
tools  for  the  burglar  as  readily  as  he  makes  them  for 
the  carpenter. 

Evil,  unhappily,  has  its  place  in  the  scheme  of  crea- 
tion, and,  accordingly,  it  enters  human  life  and  it  enters 
art;  but  the  introduction  and  treatment  of  it  in  art 
should  always,  and  very  sternly,  be  governed  by  the 
intellectual  law  of  selection.  The  sewer  and  the  cess- 
pool exist,  and  man  is  capable  of  bestial  conduct  and 
shocking  depravity.  The  world  contains  many  horrible 
things,  but  the  analysis  of  them  is  out  of  place  in  the 
Theatre,  because  destructive  of  taste  and  injurious  to 
the  public  morals.  The  play  that  introduces  upon  the 
public  stage  any  subject  improper  to  be  presented  there, 
or  treats  any  subject  there  presented  in  an  improper 
manner,  is  a  play  to  be  condemned,  and  the  condemna- 
tion should  be  made  as  severe  as  language  can  make  it, 
and  should  extend  to  its  author  as  represented  by  it,  to 
its  producer,  and  to  the  actors  who  appear  in  it,  all  of 
whom  are  implicated  in  an  offence  against  society.  A 
pussy-footed  and  mealy-mouthed  press  will  not  avail. 
Some  minds  are  pervious  to  nothing  less  than  a  trip- 
hammer. If  the  mission  of  the  dramatic  art  be  not  to 
help  mankind — to  cheer,  instruct,  inspire,  and  improve 
men  and  women,  making  the  soul  pure,  the  mind  gentle 
and  strong,  and  the  whole  being  spiritually  finer, — then 
dramatic  art  has  no  place  which  intellect  is  called  on  to 
recognize  and  advocate,  and  it  should  be  dismissed  at 


LAURENCE    IRVING    IN    AMERICA    387 

once   into  Milton's   "limbo,"  at  "the  back  side  of  the 
world  far  off,  the  Paradise  of  Fools." 

No  insistency,  therefore,  can  be  excessive  that  urges 
the  duty  of  all  intellectual  authorities — writers,  actors, 
artists,  all  persons  who  have  the  power  of  reaching  the 
public  intelligence — to  present,  for  sympathy  and  admi- 
ration, ideas  of  nobility,  objects  of  beauty,  themes  of 
joy  and  hope,  truths  that  intensify  the  life  of  the  affec- 
tions, images  of  fidelity  and  courage,  the  virtue  that  is 
never  insipid,  and  the  loveliness  that  is  never  tame;  and 
thus,  by  giving  blessings,  to  create,  extend,   and  make 
universal   the   desire   for   the   blessings   that   they   give. 
With  a  Theatre  administered  in  that  spirit  there  would 
indeed  be  ample  ground  for  conviction  that  every  cloud 
will  pass  away  from  the  Temple  of  Acting.     Let  us 
strive  unceasingly  for  that  goal.     All  human  life  has, 
for  its  ultimate  object,  a  spiritual  victory.     The  divine 
spirit  works  in  humanity  in  many  subtle  ways.     It  is 
man's    instinctive,    intuitive    imitation    of    Nature    that 
creates    artificial    objects    of    beauty — the    arch    of    the 
cathedral    repeating    the    vista    of    the    forest.      Those 
objects,  in  turn,  react  on  the  human  mind,  and  deepen 
and  heighten  its  sense  of  grandeur  and  beauty.     It  is 
man's  interpretation  of  humanity  that  has  disclosed  to 
him  the  idea  of  a  Divine  Father  and  a  spiritual  destiny. 
All  things  work  together  for  that  result — the  dramatic 
art  deeply  and  directly,  because,  when  rightly  adminis- 
tered, it  is  the  clear  mirror  of  all  that  is  splendid  in 


388  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

character  and  all  that  is  noble  and  gentle  in  conduct 
—showing  ever  the  excellence  to  be  emulated  and  the 
glory  to  be  gained,  soothing  our  cares,  dispelling 
thoughts  of  trouble,  and  casting  a  glamour  of  romantic 
grace  over  all  the  commonplaces  of  the  world.  Against 
whatever  is  inimical  to  the  Stage,  thus  valued  and  thus 
employed,  the  intellect  of  the  time  should  surge  like  a 
sea  of  fire,  to  blast,  to  wither,  to  destroy. 


Those  views  and  the  expression  of  them  gave  much 
offence  to  the  proselytizing  Mr.  Irving  and  his  admiring 
advocates.  The  fact  that  offensive  plays  by  M.  Brieux 
should  be  specifically  and  frankly  denounced  as  such, 
even  though  that  writer  happens  to  be  "a  French  Acade- 
mician," seems  to  have  caused  special  anguish  in  the 
breast  of  Mr.  Irving.  This  summary  of  that  actor's 
achievement  on  the  American  Stage  can,  notwithstand- 
ing his  tenderness  for  the  sacrosanct  Brieux,  best  be 
closed  by  reprinting  in  full  the  rejoinder  to  Mr.  Irving's 
disparagement  of  the  American  public  and  American 
critical  reviewers  which  I  wrote  and  published  in  "Har- 
per's Weekly,"  June  18,  1910: 

LAURENCE    IRVING'S    HOLY   TASK. 

"O  Pope,  had  I  thy  satire's  darts     , 
To  gie  the  rascals  their  deserts, 
Vd  rip  their  rotten,  hollow  hearts 
Art  tell  aloud 


LAURENCE    IRVING    IN    AMERICA    389 

Their  jugglin',  hocus-pocus  arts 
To  cheat  the  crowd!  " 

— Burns. 

During  the  past  ten  or  fifteen  years  a  lively  desire 
that  the  public  morals  should  be  rectified  has  made  itself 
conspicuously  manifest  in  the  local  Theatre,  and  extraor- 
dinary endeavors  in  the  cause  of  virtue  have  forced  them- 
selves on  critical  attention.  The  motive  has,  of  course, 
been  pious,  but  the  method  has  been  peculiar,  and  cer- 
tain of  the  apostles  of  reform  have  somewhat  startled 
observation  by  the  unexpectedness  of  their  investiture 
with  the  didactic  surplice.  Sister  Shaw,  for  example, 
surprised  the  community  when  she  emerged  to  A^entilate 
the  business  troubles  of  Mrs.  Warren;  Sister  Marlowe 
certainly  astonished  it  when  she  danced  for  the  cadaver 
of  the  Apostle  John,  and  divulged  her  ingenuous  and 
tender  plea  in  extenuation  of  sweet  Salome;  and 
Brother  Sothern  struck  it  into  "amazement  and  admira- 
tion" when  he  announced,  and  practically  illustrated, 
his  devout  purpose  to  make  the  public  understand  that 
"this  love  matter  is  not  altogether  a  lascivious  and  sen- 
sual" one.  Certain  other  moral  healers,  while  they  can- 
not be  thought  to  have  surprised  anybody  by  their 
appearance  in  the  good  work,  can  perhaps  be  rightly 
said  to  have  administered  an  edifying  shock, — no  doubt 
salutary,  though  not  always  reverently  appreciated. 
Brother  Al.  H.  Woods,  for  instance,  while  striving 
mightily,  met  with  rather  a  hard  fate,  for  his  "Narrow 


890  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

Path"  was  treated  much  as  the  Jews  treated  Saint 
Stephen,  having  been  driven  from  the  New  York  Stage 
after  only  one  performance;  his  "Girl  with  the  Whoop- 
ing-cough"  was  consigned  to  durance  and  to  darkness 
by  the  flinty-hearted  police,  and  his  "Get  Busy  with 
Emily"  was  angrily  repudiated  alike  by  the  heathen 
of  New  Haven  and  the  ungodly  of  Chicago.  Such 
sometimes  is  the  cruel  fortune  of  the  best  and  gentlest 
laborers  in  the  vineyard  of  righteousness.  The  holy 
industry,  nevertheless,  has  proceeded,  and  doubtless  it 
will  continue.  Much  help  has  come  from  abroad.  In 
all  the  long  annals  of  eleemosynary  endeavor  there  is, 
indeed,  no  record  more  touching  than  that  of  the  acute 
solicitude  which  for  a  long  time  has  surged  in  the 
expansive  British  theatrical  bosom  relative  to  the  melan- 
choly moral  condition  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  United 
States.  Missionary  effort  to  awaken  and  regenerate 
our  lost  and  wandering  people  has  been  well-nigh  inces- 
sant. Long  ago,  it  will  be  remembered,  Sister  Kendal 
brought  to  this  benighted  land  the  solemn  and,  of  course, 
much-needed  monition  from  good  old  Father  Pinero 
that,  whether  widowers  or  bachelors,  the  males  of 
America  when  choosing  wives  should  take  care  not 
deliberately  to  choose  accomplished,  experienced  wan- 
tons. Long  ago,  also,  Sister  Nethersole,  whom  we  have 
always  with  us,  brought  hither  a  kindred  message, 
enforcing  it  by  the  frightful  examples  of  calorific  Car- 
men,    promiscuous    Sapho,     and     vacillant     Marianne. 


LAURENCE    IRVING    IN    AMERICA    391 

Brother  Hare  soon  followed,  sounding  the  alarm  to  sin- 
ners by  his  remarkable  preachments  about  Mrs.  Ebb- 
smith  and  the  nocturnal  assignation  of  the  Gay  Lord 
Queoc.  Sister  Campbell  and  Sister  Langtry  duly 
wheeled  into  line,  with  the  woful  modern  instances  of 
Countess  Beata  and  ardent  Mrs.  Trevelwyn;  and 
Brother  Jones,  contending  for  Mrs.  Rebellious  Susans 
right  to  commit  adultery,  brought  up  the  rear  with  a 
passionate  assurance  that  he  was  actually  "sweating" 
in  his  toil  to  save  us  from  the  wrath  to  come.  No  one 
of  those  ministers  of  grace,  however,  has  essayed  the 
holy  task  of  our  moral  redemption  with  a  zeal  surpassing 
that  of  Mr.  Laurence  Irving.  That  Good  Samaritan's 
anxiety  about  us  is  very  great, — almost  as  great  as 
that  of  the  itinerant  evangelist  who,  on  board  an 
express  train,  selected  a  moment  when  the  train  was 
speeding  at  about  a  mile  a  minute  over  a  particularly 
rough  section  of  the  road  to  distribute  to  his  fellow 
passengers  a  tract  headed  with  the  pertinent  inquiry, 
"Are  You  Aware  That  You  Are  All  Going  to  Hell?" 
Remarks  of  mine  relative  to  the  rank,  vulgar, 
offensive  play  of  "The  Three  Daughters  of  M. 
Dupont," — a  revolting  compound  of  cynicism,  indeli- 
cacy, and  brutality, — made  by  the  French  dram- 
atist M.  Brieux  and  produced  by  Mr.  Irving  at  the 
Comedy  Theatre,  caused  the  publication  by  that  actor 
of  a  letter, — resentful  of  critical  condemnation  of  that 
play, — in  which  he  undertakes  to  vindicate  it,  and  prom- 


892  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

ises  to  reproduce  it  here  and  to  supplement  it  with 
other  plays  of  a  kindred  character  from  the  pen  of  the 
same  author.  Those  supplementary  plays  are  more  or 
less  distinctly  described  by  the  irate  comedian,  and  his 
designation  of  them  seems  to  herald  the  theatrical 
presentment  of  much  absurdity  and  some  little  feculence. 
The  first  of  those  plays,  says  Mr.  Irving,  "deals  with 
the  blighting  effect  of  medical  theory  on  the  individual 
and  with  the  charlatanism  which  enters  so  largely  into 
modern  medicine."  The  second  is  labelled  "an  arraign- 
ment of  divorce."  The  third  is  said  to  depict  "the 
frauds  and  evils  of  French  political  life."  The  fourth 
"shows  the  evil  and  devastating  effects  of  the  wide- 
spread custom  of  bringing  wet-nurses  from  the  provinces 
for  the  children  of  Parisians" — a  display  which  would 
seem  to  promise  great  practical  edification  in  America. 
The  fifth  "deals  principally  with  the  psychology  of  the 
married  state  when  love  is  not  at  the  bottom  of  the 
union."  The  sixth  asseverates  "the  need  of  the  human 
race  for  faith,  whether  false  or  true," — a  declaration 
calculated  to  astound  by  its  portentous  originality.  The 
seventh— "Les  Hannetons"  ("The  Affinity"),  which  Mr. 
Irving  brought  forth  here,  and  which  he  -  has  many 
times  presented — is,  as  he  approvingly  certifies  by  quot- 
ing the  words  of  its  author,  "a  study  of  free  love  and 
of  the  misery  that  is  bound  to  ensue  from  it  when  the 
couple  have  nothing  in  common  but  their  physical 
infatuation."      All    this   Mr.    Irving,    in   the   abounding 


LAURENCE    IRVING    IN    AMERICA    393 

generosity  of  his  missionary  spirit,  intends  to  bestow 
upon  the  play-going  public  of  New  York  by  way,  as 
he  expresses  it,  of  "turning  the  light  into  the  dark 
places."  Medical  theory,  divorce,  corruption  in  French 
politics,  wet-nurses  from  the  country,  psychology  of 
loveless  marriage,  essential  religion,  and  free  love!  How 
nice  it  all  will  be!  And  what  a  comfort  the  public  will 
find  in  it!  "Here's  richness,"  said  Mr.  Squeers  as  he 
gazed  into  the  jug  of  skimmed  milk  provided  for  the 
breakfast  of  the  starving  children  at  Dotheboys  Hall! 
Lead,  kindly  light! 

Mr.  Irving  is  a  very  serious  man;  he  has  a  very 
serious  purpose,  and  as  he  wishes  to  be  taken  very 
seriously  he  shall  be  accommodated  in  that  particular. 
He  has  declared  his  belief  that  it  was  "provincialism" 
which  caused  certain  auditors  of  his  recent  ministry — 
"because  the  debate  [sic]  was  carried  on  in  francs  and 
not  in  dollars,  and  in  thousands,  not  millions — to  miss 
the  trend  and  universal  application  of  Brieux's  marvel- 
lous character-drawing,  and  fail  to  enjoy  his  eschewral 
of  all  the  ordinary  spurious  complications  and  coinci- 
dents that  go  to  make  up  the  ordinary  theatrical  plot." 
He  is  entirely  mistaken  in  that  belief.  Nobody  who 
saw  "The  Three  Daughters  of  M.  Dupont"  missed  its 
"trend"  or  could  possibly  miss  it.  The  "trend"  was 
distinctly  obvious  toward  almost  everything  that  is 
obnoxious  and  much  that  is  grossly  improper  in  the 
Theatre.     A  group   of  contemptible   persons   was   dis- 


394  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

played,  and  attention  was  directed  to  greed,  meanness, 
sensuality,  and  utter  selfishness;  and  finally,  by  way  of 
moral  tag,  the  edifying  intimation  was  provided  (by  a 
regretful  member  of  the  demi-monde)  that  a  woman 
who  finds  herself  unhappy  in  the  state  of  marriage  will 
not  find  happiness  in  exchanging  the  position  of  a  wife 
for  that  of  a  courtesan.  Mr.  Irving's  audience  under- 
stood perfectly  well  the  drift  of  his  deliverance  of  M. 
Brieux's  preachment,  and,  deeming  that  no  such  moni- 
tion is  needed  by  the  women  of  this  community,  con- 
sidered it  alike  superfluous,  impertinent,  and  vulgar. 
It  is  true  that  the  American  public  still  occasionally 
shows  some  provincialism,  but  that  showing  is  not  made 
in  dulness  of  apprehension;  it  is  denoted  chiefly  in  an 
exaggerated  respect  for  foreign  actors  only  because  they 
are  foreign,  and  in  a  certain  strange  obsequious  accept- 
ance of  their  impudent  vaporings,  the  proper  place  for 
which  is  not  the  press,  but  the  waste-paper  basket. 

Mr.  Irving,  it  seems,  judging  by  his  published  letter 
and  his  frequent  curtain  speeches,  has  not  been  alto- 
gether pleased  with  the  reception  accorded  to  the  Brieux 
plays  and  to  himself  in  the  Theatre  and  the  Press  of 
America.  "It  may  well  be  that  neither  America  nor 
England,"  he  declares,  "is  yet  ripe  for  Brieux  any 
more  than  the  critics  are."  It  may,  indeed!  But 
ripe  is  not  the  word.  The  state  of  England  can  only 
be  conjectured;  that  of  America  is  known;  our  coun- 
try  has   many    defects,    but    it    is    not    yet    rotten,    as 


LAURENCE    IRVING    IN    AMERICA    395 

assuredly  it  would  be  if  it  could  take  delight  in  such 
tainted  trash  as  "Les  Hannetons"  and  "The  Three 
Daughters  of  M.  Dupont."  It  is  a  pity  that  Mr. 
Irving  finds  himself  dissatisfied  with  his  reception  here. 
The  American  community  is  the  most  liberal  in  the 
world  toward  the  Theatre.  It  has  no  prejudice,  though 
it  decidedly  prefers  that  actors  should  act  and  not 
talk  about  their  acting,  their  missions,  and  themselves. 
It  is  always  glad  to  see  and  to  support  any  good 
actor  in  any  good  play,  but  some  portion  of  it  certainly 
has  grown  to  be  a  little  impatient  of  foreign  visitors 
who  come  here  to  dispense  instruction  in  morality 
by  polluting  the  Stage  with  didactic  or  other  theatrical 
sewage:  and  to  such  foreign  missionaries  as  happen  to 
be  discontented  with  America  the  suggestion  may  not 
be  inarjpropriate  that  they  would  do  well  to  confine  their 
reformatory  ministrations  to  their  own  countries, — where 
perhaps  they  would  be  appreciated. 

If  Mr.  Irving  will  present  himself  and  his  talented 
associate,  Miss  Hackney  (Mrs.  Irving),  on  the  Ameri- 
can Stage  in  a  fine,  clean,  dramatic  play,  old  or  new, 
romantic  or  literal,  he  will  enjoj^  bounteous  acceptance, 
and  every  earnest,  honest  writer  connected  with  the 
newspaper  press  of  the  country  will  rejoice  to  advocate 
his  cause,  as  well  for  his  own  sake  as  for  the  sake  of 
his  great  father's  honored  memory.  Meanwhile  it  is 
proper  and  essential  to  say  that  it  would  have  been 
judicious  and  in  good  taste  on  his  part  to  have  refrained 


396  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

from  the  covert  sneer  conveyed  in  his  inquiry:  "Is  it 
that  Brieux  makes  even  some  citizens  of  this  virtuous 
republic  feel  much  as  Hamlet  made  King  Claudius  feel? 
Is  it  that  no  branch  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  can  endure 
the  serious  debate  and  presentation  of  vital  sex  ques- 
tions?" M.  Brieux  has,  obviously,  made  a  deep  impres- 
sion on  the  mind  of  Mr.  Irving,  but  it  is  safe  to  say 
that  as  yet  the  "citizens  of  this  virtuous  republic,"  so 
far  from  having  been  affected  by  his  pestiferous  and 
dirty  prattle,  are,  for  the  most  part,  not  aware  of  his 
existence;  and  as  to  the  matter  of  plays,  the  branch  of 
"the  Anglo-Saxon  race"  located  in  this  country  has 
for  a  number  of  years  had  ample  opportunity  to  endure 
in  the  Theatre,  and  has  endured  with  amazing  patience 
and  to  the  verge  of  nausea,  such  a  vast  amount  of  the 
sickly  stuff  called  "serious  debate"  on  "sex  questions," — 
"debate"  which,  in  fact,  is  a  reeking  compound  of 
mephitic  sentimentality,  megrimatic  twaddle,  and  rank 
indecency, — that  it  has  grown  utterly  weary  of  the 
infliction  and  completely  disgusted  with  the  persons 
who  impose  it.  No  auditor  in  a  theatre  or  anywhere 
else  need  feel  "as  Hamlet  made  King  Claudius  feel," — 
like  an  adulterer  and  a  murderer  apprehensive  of  detec- 
tion,— in  order  to  resent  the  superfluous  and  insolent 
obtrusion  of  indelicate  or  downright  nasty  topics  on 
the  stage.  The  Theatre  is  the  place  for  Drama,  not 
the  place  for  either  "serious  debate"  or  frivolous  debate 
or  any  "debate,"   and  least  of  all  is   it   the  place   for 


LAURENCE    IRVING    IN    AMERICA    397 

fruitless,  didactic  "debate"  in  bald  literal  terms  on  the 
"psychology"  of  the  sexual  relation.  Difference  between 
black  and  white  is  perceptible  to  the  naked  eye.  Our 
community  is  aware,  though  our  theatrical  missionary 
admonitors  do  not  appear  to  know  it,  of  the  difference 
between  right  and  wrong.  We  have  the  Ten  Command- 
ments. We  have  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount.  We  have 
the  precepts  of  Christ.  Who,  in  Heaven's  name,  has 
ever  asked  actors  to  promulgate  platitudes  and  exhorta- 
tions on  the  stage  by  way  of  instructing  us  in  our  moral 
duties  or  enforcing  rectification  of  our  moral  principles? 
The  intrusion  of  "sex  questions"  in  the  Theatre  is 
an  insult  to  intelligence  and  an  outrage  on  decency, 
and  if  Mr.  Irving  pleases  to  enroll  himself  with  those 
who  cannot  or  do  not  choose  to  recognize  that  fact, 
so  much  the  worse  for  him.  Meanwhile  this  actor 
troubles  himself  far  too  much  about  criticism  and  critics. 
It  is  not  anything  written  and  published  against  the 
plays  he  has  produced  and  purposes  to  produce  that 
will  prevent  his  obtainment  of  success.  Adverse  criti- 
cism of  a  play  never  caused  its  failure  if  that  play  was 
pure  and  if  it  possessed  true  merit  and  could  be  kept 
on  the  stage  for  two  weeks.  The  force  that  will  cause 
Mr.  Irving's  failure  with  such  plays  as  he  has  desig- 
nated is  the  enlightened  opinion  of  a  self-respecting 
public  perceptive  of  the  bad  character  of  the  plays 
that  he  intends  to  produce;  for,  though  some  of  those 
plays  have  not  yet  been  acted  here,  the  actor's  descrip- 


308  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

tion  of  their  themes  and  intimation  of  their  contents 
sufficiently  indicate  that  the  character  of  them  is,  in 
general,  had.  We  do  not  want  "the  dark  places."  We 
want  the  light  places.  We  want  beauty,  nobility, 
grandeur,  the  heroism  of  human  nature,  the  lovely  attri- 
butes of  human  conduct,  the  incentive  to  hope,  the  dif- 
fusion of  something  like  happiness,  whether  the  per- 
sons presented  are  ancient  heroes  or  modern  hod-carriers, 
or  both.  We  are  weary,  beyond  sufferance,  of  ignominy 
and  crime  masquerading  as  Moral  Lesson.  If  Mr. 
Irving's  statement  were  true, — the  statement,  namely, 
that  the  plays  of  M.  Brieux  as  described  by  him  are 
"an  epitome  of  the  whole  life  of  modern  France," — 
then,  indeed,  modern  France  would  be  in  a  deplorable, 
not  to  say  hopeless,  condition;  but  Mr.  Irving,  fortu- 
nately, is  mistaken.  France  has  been  very  grievously 
misrepresented  by  many  of  the  plays  that  have  come 
out  of  it. 

Mr.  Laurence  Irving  is  a  man  of  middle  age,  highly 
intelligent,  finely  educated,  able,  clever,  experienced  in 
his  profession,  and  accomplished,  but  if  his  dramatic 
creed  and  his  sense  of  moral  responsibility  to  hi*  time 
are  correctly  disclosed  by  his  recent  professional  Activi- 
ties and  his  recent  statements  of  his  views  and  opinions 
he  certainly  is  sadly  lacking  in  good  judgment  &md 
good  taste.  He  might  in  particular  have  been  expected 
to  know,  as  an  immutable,  indisputable  fact,  that  the 
Theatre,   contrary   to   his   assumption,    is,   primarily,   ja 


LAURENCE    IRVING    IN    AMERICA    399 

place  of  public  entertainment,  although,  of  course,  it 
is  much  more  than  that;  and  it  ought  not  to  be  necessary 
to  point  out  to  him,  or  to  anybody  else,  that  this  also 
is  true:  that  the  Theatre  is  a  place  to  which  we,  as  a 
people,  wish  to  resort  in  company  with  our  wives, 
daughters,  mothers,  sons,  sisters,  brothers,  and  sweet- 
hearts, secure  in  the  knowledge  that  we  shall  not  there 
be  insulted  by  tainted  frivolity,  ribaldry,  specious  por- 
trayal of  vile  subjects,  the  sophistical  glossing  of  vice, 
or  the  insolence  of  didactic  "moral"  precept  tagged  upon 
pictures  of  infamy  and  shame. 

In  discussing  the  subject  of  theatrical  improprieties 
much  and  melancholy  ingenuity  is  exercised  by  its  advo- 
cates to  justify  and  commend  its  presentation.  Those 
advocates  are,  generally  speaking,  of  two  classes:  the 
first,  comparatively  few  in  number — to  which  Mr. 
Laurence  Irving  undoubtedly  belongs — really  believe, 
however  strange  it  may  seem,  in  the  rectitude  and 
beneficence  of  their  ministrations,  which,  in  fact,  tend 
to  sully  the  public  mind;  and,  second,  the  larger  class 
— representative  of  the  widest  divergence  of  intellectual 
development, — persons  who  present  decadent  drama, 
frivolous  or  serious,  without  the  slightest  thought  of 
moral  impulse  or  ethical  purpose  or  consideration  of 
consequences.  From  both  classes,  when  condemned, 
there  proceeds  a  copious  stream  of  fallacious  argument 
which  for  many  readers,- — not  all  of  them  inexperienced, 
— clouds   the   clear  waters  of   reason   just   as   the   inky 


400  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

exudation  from  the  squid  darkens  the  sea.  No  person 
naturally  virtuous  requires  enlightenment  as  to  rectitude 
of  principle  and  chastity  of  conduct.  No  person  nat- 
urally vicious  was  ever  redeemed  from  that  condition 
by  theatrical  presentment  of  the  Frightful  Example. 
Some  human  beings  habitually  do  wrong  with  a  clear 
knowledge  that  it  is  wrong  and  often  with  a  secret 
approval  of  their  sins.  No  bigoted  person  was  ever 
made  tolerant  of  sin  or  crime  by  theatrical  exposition 
of  the  sufferings  consequent  upon  them.  No  gentle 
person  ever  needs  to  be  told  that  charity  is  the  greatest 
of  all  virtues  and  that  no  repentant  sinner,  least  of  all 
a  repentant  woman,  should  be  scorned.  No  person 
visits  the  Theatre  for  instruction  in  ethics,  sociology,  or 
hygiene.  The  innocence  which  has  not  yet  discovered 
that  "evil  communications  corrupt  good  manners"  does 
not  visit  the  Theatre  at  all.  The  social  conventions, — 
that  afflictive  "code  of  conventional  ethics"  against 
which  didactic  theatrical  diatribes  are  principally 
directed, — have  long  been  established,  and  they  seem  to 
be  the  best  that  can  be  made.  Better  ones,  at  any 
rate,  have  not  yet  been  suggested.  It  is  perfectly 
understood  that  there  are  elements  of  injustice  in  the 
social  code,  especially  affecting  Woman,  but  the  injustice 
is  that  of  Nature,  not  of  Man.  Moreover,  it  is  not 
from  without,  but  from  within,  that  heaviest  punishment 
comes  upon  the  awakened  sinner:  it  is  the  perception 
of   a  sacred  self  violated  that  causes   the   anguish   and 


LAURENCE    IRVING    IN    AMERICA    401 

makes  hard  the  way  of  the  transgressor.  Nothing 
external,  least  of  all  the  spectacle  of  a  drama,  can 
assuage  the  agony  or  lighten  the  burden. 

It  is  easy  to  write  Decadent  Drama  and  it  is  very 
easy  to  act  in  it.  That  is  one  reason  why  the  public 
has  been  afflicted  with  so  much  of  it.  Material  for 
it  can  be  elicited  from  any  police  court  or  almost  any 
daily  newspaper  or  medical  journal.  Illicit  "love," 
the  most  frequent  theme  of  these  "problem  plays," 
is,  in  its  action  and  reaction  upon  character  and  cir- 
cumstance, readily  operant  to  create  effective  dramatic 
situations,  and  those  situations,  displayed  with  hysteric 
movement  and  clamor,  readily  affect  the  desultory  multi- 
tude, excite  morbid  curiosity,  and  are  often  found  to 
be  a  lucrative  theatrical  commodity.  No  spectator  was 
ever  benefited  by  the  contemplation  of  them,  and  they 
have  done  much  injury  by  arousing  in  the  minds  of 
many  persons,  of  both  sexes,  and  especially  the  young, 
a  morbid,  baneful  inquisitiveness  as  to  the  lives  and 
relationships  of  rakes  and  wantons.  They  naturally 
tend  to  propel  the  imagination  toward  iniquities  and 
monstrosities;  to  fill  the  mind  with  images  of  lewd, 
immoral  character  and  pictures  of  licentious  conduct; 
to  depress  the  intellect  and  sadden  the  heart  with  an 
almost  despairing  sense  of  human  frailty  and  wicked- 
ness, without  inspiring  even  one  suggestion  of  practical 
palliative  value.  The  glib,  complacent  amateur  critics 
of  life  and  drama — the  juvenile  squeak  and  the  sopho- 


■102  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

morical  squeal, — are  always  tremendously  moved  by 
them,  proclaiming  them  "strong,  virile,  and  true."  The 
experienced,  judicious  publicist  sees  them  with  mingled 
sorrow,  anger,  and  contempt.  There  is  not  and  there 
never  has  been,  from  any  such  commentator  on  either 
life  or  the  dramatic  reflection  of  life,  any  protest  against 
the  presentment  of  the  facts  of  human  experience, — 
the  compendium,  that  is  to  say,  of  feelings  and  deeds 
which  Mr.  Henry  Arthur  Jones  is  supposed  to  mean 
by  "the  Great  Realities  of  Life," — when  that  present- 
ment is  made  with  due  regard  to  the  obvious  and 
rightful  law  of  wise  selection.  Some  of  the  greatest 
plays  in  our  language  embody  elements  of  evil,  duly 
restricted  to  a  right  perspective.  Shakespeare's  Antony 
and  Cleopatra  are  persons  who  could  no  more  be  spared 
from  literature  than  could  his  Rosalind  and  Orlando. 
Goethe's  Faust  and  Margaret  are  immortal.  Gold- 
smith's Olivia  and  Squire  Thornhill  are  true  to  life  and 
to  art,  and  no  offence  is  found  in  their  story  as  it  has 
been  set  upon  the  stage.  Pity  and  sympathy  are  stirred 
by  thought  of  Mary  Blenkarn  and  her  weak  but  true 
lover.  Loathing  and  abhorrence  are  inspired  in  normal 
minds  by  the  stage  presentment  of  Hedda  Gabler  and 
Mr.  Lbvberg,  the  savage  Maldonaldo  and  the  treach- 
erous wanton,  Mrs.  Bellamy;  aversion  and  contempt  are 
the  effects  of  Pierre  and  Charlotte,  his  "affinity"  and 
"incubus,"  and  the  normal,  decent  auditor  who,  seeking 
a   play,   accidentally  stumbles   into   their   presence   feels 


LAURENCE    IRVING   IN   AMERICA    403 

as  if  he  had  inadvertently  blundered  upon  some  stranger's 
vulgar,  dirty  little  intrigue,  murmurs  his  word  of  excuse, 
and  hastily  retires. 

The  range  of  taste  which  comprehends  every  proper 
type  of  theatrical  performance, — a  range  which  is  only 
briefly  indicated  in  the  specification  of  drama  extend- 
ing from  "Hamlet"  at  the  one  extreme  to  "The  Royal 
Family"  at  the  other;  from  "The  Harvest  Moon"  to 
"The  White  Pilgrim";  from  "The  Little  Minister"  to 
"The  Bells";  from  "Nance  Oldfield"  to  "The  Man  of 
the  Hour";  from  "Richelieu"  to  "The  World  and  His 
Wife";  from  "As  You  Like  It"  to  "Caste";  from  "Vir- 
ginius"  to  "The  House  Next  Door";  from  "Alabama" 
to  "Faust";  from  "What  Every  Woman  Knows"  to  "The 
Rivals";  from  "King  Lear"  to  "The  Messenger  from 
Mars";  from  "Seeing  Warren"  to  "The  Darling  of  the 
Gods";  from  "Off  the  Line"  to  "Leah  Kleschna";  from 
"Charles  I."  to  "The  Admirable  Crichton";  from  "She 
Stoops  to  Conquer"  to  "Becket";  and  from  "The  Lyons 
Mail"  to  "The  Witching  Hour" — cannot,  truthfully,  be 
designated  narrow.  That  range  I  have  always  advo- 
cated. Our  Stage,  to  some  extent  always,  and  to  a 
shameful  extent  of  late  years,  has  been  made  a  dump- 
ing-ground for  a  mess  of  dramatic  impropriety, — serious 
and  frivolous.  The  abuse  has  become  intolerable  and  it 
ought  to  be  stopped.  When,  in  defence  of  contributions 
to  that  defilement,  an  able  and  scholarly  man,  such  as 
Mr.  Laurence  Irving,  seriously  asks  for  approval  of  a 


404  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

theatrical  "study  of  free  love";  when  such  a  man  as 
Mr.  Edward  II.  Sothern, — an  accomplished,  sincere, 
earnest,  ambitious  actor, — conies  before  the  public  with 
a  declaration  that  he  desires  to  teach  people  that  love 
is  "not  altogether  a  lascivious  and  sensual  matter"; 
when  a  woman  of  the  pure,  exemplary  private  life  of 
Mrs.  Kendal  will  produce  "The  Second  Mrs.  Tanque- 
ray";  when  that  leading  impresario  Oscar  Ham- 
merstein  will  proclaim  "Salome"  as  one  of  the  most 
moral  works  ever  presented;  when  an  able,  astute 
publicist  and  manager,  Mr.  Harrison  Grey  Fiske,  will 
produce  and  praise  the  coarse  and  gross  "Salvation 
Nell";  when  the  directors  of  the  New  Theatre  will 
bring  forth  such  plays  as  "A  Son  of  the  People"  and 
the  atrocious  "The  Nigger";  when  the  ablest  producing 
stage-manager  in  America,  Mr.  David  Belasco,  will 
try  to  palliate  an  outrage  on  propriety  by  calling  "The 
Easiest  Way"  a  moral  lesson  for  mothers  and  daughters, 
while  pretty  little  Miss  Charlotte  Walker  will  publicly 
announce, — and  a  newspaper  will  print  the  announce- 
ment,— that  in  his  plays,  of  which  "The  Easiest  Way" 
is  one,  the  people  hear  "the  voice  of  God  speaking 
through  Mr.  Eugene  Walter!" — surely  there  is  great 
and  urgent  need  for  informed,  rational,  incessant  oppo- 
sition to  the  degradation  of  the  Stage,  opposition  mak- 
ing use  of  every  weapon  that  experience  has  provided, 
that  ingenuity  can  invent,  and  that  industry  can  employ. 


XIV. 

MISCELLANEOUS    COMMENT. 

"FORGET    ME     NOT"     AND    GENEVIEVE    WARD. 

In  the  season  of  1880-'81   Genevieve  Ward  made  a 
remarkably  brilliant  hit  with  her  embodiment  of  Steph- 
anie Be  Mohrivart,  in  the  play  of  "Forget  Me  Not,"  by 
Herman   Merivale,   and   since   then   she  has   acted   that 
part    all   round    the    world.      It   was    an    extraordinary 
performance — potent   with   intellectual   character,    beau- 
tiful    with    refinement,     nervous     and     steel-like     with 
indomitable  purpose   and  icy  glitter,  intense   with  pas- 
sion, painfully  true  to  an  afflicting  ideal  of  reality,  and 
at  last  splendidly  tragic:  and  it  was  a  shining  example 
of  ductile  and  various  art.     Such  a  work  ought  surely 
to  be  recorded  as  one  of  the  great  achievements  of  the 
Stage.     Genevieve  Ward  showed  herself  to  possess   in 
copious    abundance    peculiar    qualities    of    power    and 
beauty   upon   which  mainly    the   part   of   Stephanie   is 
reared.     The  points  of  assimilation  between  the  actress 
and  the  part  were  seen  to  consist  of  an  imperial  force 
of   character,   intellectual    brilliancy,   audacity   of   mind, 
iron  will,  perfect  elegance  of  manners,  a  profound  self- 
knowledge,  and  unerring  intuitions  as  to  the  relation  of 

405 


40G  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

motive  and  conduct  in  that  vast  network  of  circum- 
stance which  is  the  social  fabric.  Stephanie  possesses 
all  those  attributes,  and  all  those  attributes  Genevieve 
Ward  supplied,  with  the  luxuriant  adequacy  and  grace 
of  nature.  But  Stephanie  superadds  to  those  attributes 
a  bitter,  mocking  cynicism,  thinly  veiled  by  artificial 
suavity  and  logically  irradiant  from  natural  hardness  of 
heart,  coupled  with  an  insensibility  that  has  been  engen- 
dered by  cruel  experience  of  human  selfishness.  This, 
together  with  a  certain  mystical  touch  of  the  animal 
freedom,  whether  in  joy  or  wrath,  that  goes  with  a  being 
having  neither  soul  nor  conscience,  the  actress  had  to 
supply — and  did  supply — by  her  art.  As  interpreted 
by  Genevieve  Ward  the  character  was  reared  not  upon 
a  basis  of  unchastity,  but  upon  a  basis  of  intellectual 
perversion.  Stephanie  has  followed — at  first  with  self- 
contempt,  afterward  with  sullen  indifference,  finally 
with  the  bold  and  brilliant  hardihood  of  reckless  defiance 
— a  life  of  crime.  She  is  audacious,  unscrupulous,  cruel ; 
a  consummate  tactician;  almost  sexless,  yet  a  siren  in 
knowledge  and  capacity  to  use  the  arts  of  her  sex; 
capable  of  any  wickedness  to  accomplish  an  end,  yet 
trivial  enough  to  have  no  higher  end  in  view  than  the 
reinvestiture  of  herself  with  social  recognition;  cold  as 
snow;  implacable  as  the  grave;  remorseless;  wicked;  but, 
beneath  all  this  depravity,  capable  of  self-pity,  capable 
of  momentary  regret,  capable  of  a  little  human  tender- 
ness, aware  of  the  glory  of  the  innocence  she  has  lost, 


From  a  PTiotograpli  by  i  ander  Wyde.  In  Collection  of  Evert  Jansen  Wendell,  Esq. 


GENEVIEVE    WARD 
as 
8t6phanie  De  Uohrivart,  in  "Forget  Me  Not." 


"FORGET   ME   NOT"  407 

and  thus  not  altogether  beyond  the  pale  of  compassion. 
And  she  is,  in  externals, — in  everything  visible  and 
audible, — the  ideal  of  grace  and  melody. 

In  the  presence  of  an  admirable  work  of  art  the 
observer  wishes  that  it  were  entirely  worthy  of  being 
performed  and  that  it  were  entirely  clear  and  sound  as 
to  its  applicability — in  a  moral  sense,  or  even  in  an 
intellectual  sense — to  human  life.  Art  does  not  go  far 
when  it  stops  short  at  the  revelation  of  the  felicitous 
powers  of  the  artist;  and  it  is  not  morally  sound  when 
it  tends  to  beguile  sympathy  with  an  unworthy  object 
and  perplex  a  spectator's  perceptions  as  to  good  and 
evil.  Genevieve  Ward's  performance  of  Stephanie, 
brilliant  though  it  was,  did  not  redeem  the  character 
by  any  intimation  of  latent  goodness.  The  actress 
managed,  by  a  scheme  of  treatment  exclusively  her 
own,  to  make  Stephanie,  for  two  or  three  moments, 
piteous  and  forlorn;  and  her  expression  of  that  evanes- 
cent anguish — occurring  in  the  appeal  to  Sir  Horace 
Welby,  her  friendly  foe,  in  the  strong  scene  of  the 
Second  Act — was  wonderfully  subtle.  That  appeal,  as 
Genevieve  Ward  made  it,  began  in  artifice,  became 
profoundly  sincere,  and  then  was  stunned  and  startled 
into  a  recoil  of  resentment  by  a  harsh  rebuff,  where- 
upon it  subsided  through  hysterical  levity  into  frigid 
and  brittle  sarcasm  and  gay  defiance.  For  a  while, 
accordingly,  the  feelings  of  the  observer  were  deeply 
moved.      Yet    this    did    not    make    the    character    of 


408  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

Stephanie  less  detestable.  The  blight  remains  upon  it 
— and  always  must  remain — that  it  repels  all  human 
sympathy.  The  added  blight  likewise  rests  upon 
it, — though  this  is  a  less  vital  fault, — that  it  is  bur- 
dened with  moral  sophistry.  Vicious  conduct  in  a 
woman,  according  to  Stephanie's  logic,  is  not  more 
culpable  or  disastrous  than  vicious  conduct  in  a  man: 
the  woman,  equally  with  the  man,  should  have  a  social 
license  to  sow  the  juvenile  wild  oats  and  effect  the 
middle-aged  reformation;  and  it  is  only  because  there 
are  gay  young  men  who  indulge  in  profligacy  that 
women  sometimes  become  adventurous  moral  monsters. 
All  this  is  launched  forth  in  speeches  of  singular  terse- 
ness, eloquence,  and  vigor;  but  all  this  is  specious  and 
mischievous  perversion  of  the  truth — however  admirably 
in  character  from  Stephanie's  lips.  Every  observer 
who  has  looked  carefully  upon  the  world  is  aware  that 
the  consequences  of  sexual  sin  by  a  woman  are  vastly 
more  pernicious  than  those  of  sexual  sin  by  a  man; 
that  society  could  not  exist  in  decency,  if  to  its  already 
inconvenient  coterie  of  "reformed"  rakes  it  were  to  add 
a  legion  of  "reformed"  wantons;  and  that  it  is  innate 
wickedness  and  evil  propensity  which  make  such  women 
as  Stephanie,  and  not  the  mere  existence  of  the  wild 
young  men  who  are  willing  to  become  their  comrades — 
and  who  generally  end  by  being  their  dupes  and  victims. 
It  is  natural,  however,  that  this  evil  woman — who  has 
kept  a  gambling-hell  and  ruined  many  a  man,  soul  and 


"FORGET    ME    NOT"  409 

body,  and  who  now  wishes  to  reinstate  herself  in  a 
virtuous  social  position — should  thus  strive  to  palliate 
her  past  proceedings.  Self -justification  is  one  of  the 
first  laws  of  life.  Even  lago,  who  never  deceives  him- 
self, yet  announces  one  adequate  motive  for  his  fearful 
crimes.  Even  Bulwer's  Margrave — that  prodigy  of 
evil,  that  cardinal  type  of  infernal,  joyous,  animal 
depravity — can  yet  paint  himself  in  the  light  of  harm- 
less loveliness  and  innocent  gayety. 

"Forget  Me  Not"  tells  a  thin  story,  but  its  story 
has  been  made  to  yield  excellent  dramatic  pictures, 
splendid  moments  of  intellectual  combat,  and  affecting 
contrasts  of  character.  The  dialogue,  particularly  in 
the  Second  Act,  is  as  strong  and  as  brilliant  as  polished 
steel.  In  that  combat  of  words  Genevieve  Ward's  act- 
ing was  delicious  with  trenchant  skill  and  fascinating 
variety.  The  easy,  good-natured,  bantering  air  with 
which  the  strife  began,  the  liquid  purity  of  the 
tones,  the  delicate  glow  of  the  arch  satire,  the  icy 
glitter  of  the  thought  and  purpose  beneath  the  words, 
the  transition  into  jDathos  and  back  again  into  gay 
indifference  and  deadly  hostility,  the  sudden  and  terrible 
mood  of  menace,  when  at  length  the  crisis  had  passed 
and  the  evil  genius  had  won  its  temporary  victory — all 
those  were  in  perfect  taste  and  consummate  harmony. 
Seeing  that  brilliant,  supple,  relentless,  formidable 
figure,  and  hearing  that  incisive,  bell-like  voice,  the 
spectator  was  repelled  and  attracted  at  the  same  instant, 


410  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

and  thoroughly  bewildered  with  the  sense  of  a  power 
and  beauty  as  hateful  as  they  were  puissant.  It  was 
an  image  of  imperial  will,  made  radiant  with  beauty 
and  electric  with  flashes  of  passion.  The  leopard 
and  the  serpent  are  fatal,  terrible,  and  loathsome;  yet 
they  scarcely  have  a  peer  among  nature's  supreme 
symbols  of  power  and  grace.  Into  the  last  scene  of 
"Forget  Me  Not," — when  at  length  Stephanie  is  crushed 
by  physical  fear,  through  beholding,  unseen  by  him,  the 
man  who  would  kill  her  as  a  malignant  and  dangerous 
reptile, — Genevieve  Ward  introduced  such  illustrative 
"business,"  not  provided  by  the  piece,  as  greatly 
enhanced  the  final  effect.  The  backward  rush  from 
the  door,  on  seeing  the  Corsican  avenger  on  the  stair- 
case, and  therewithal  the  incidental,  involuntary  cry 
of  terror,  was  the  invention  of  the  actress:  and  from 
that  moment  to  the  final  exit  she  was  the  incarnation  of 
abject  fear.  The  situation  is  exceptionally  strong:  the 
actress  invested  it  with  a  coloring  of  pathetic  and  awful 
truth. 

WILSON    BARRETT     IN    "CLAUDIAN"    AND    "THE    MANXMAN." 

The  hero  of  the  drama  of  "Claudian"  is  a  striking  char- 
acter and  one  in  which  an  actor  can  create  a  lively  and 
diversified  impression  of  power,  grace,  and  pathos,  of  spir- 
itual exaltation,  moral  sublimity,  and  simple  heroism.  The 
play  is  not  pure  melodrama,  but  partly  poetic  tragedy; 
and,  since  there  is  no  good  reason  why  poetry  should 


"CLAUDIAN"  411 

be  restricted  within  the  limits  of  declamation,  the  fact 
that  it  is  herein  made  tributary  to  sensation  does  not 
degrade  the  rank  of  the  fabric  nor  lessen  its  value.  A 
good  story  is  the  better  for  being  well  told,  and  a  poetic 
play  is  the  more  delightful  for  being  spirited  with  action, 
busy  with  incident,  and  picturesque  with  scenic  embel- 
lishment. 

The  tragedy  of  "Claudian"  was  made  for  Wilson 
Barrett  by  authors  who  had  carefully  considered  his 
personal  peculiarities  and  his  professional  aptitude.  The 
plot  was  invented  and  constructed  by  Henry  Herman. 
The  text  was  written  by  W.  G.  Wills.  The  architecture 
and  the  dresses  were  designed  by  E.  W.  Godwin.  The 
scenery  was  painted  by  Walter  Hann,  Stafford  Hall, 
and  William  Telbin.  A  part  of  the  incidental  music  was 
furnished  by  Sir  Julius  Benedict,  but  the  most  of  it  was 
provided  by  Edward  Jones.  "Claudian"  had  its  first 
representation  on  December  6,  1883,  at  the  Princess' 
Theatre,  London.  It  was  first  produced  in  America, 
at  the  old  Star  Theatre,  New  York,  on  October  11, 
1886.  It  long  kept  its  place  on  the  stage  as  a  successful 
play,  and  it  deserves  to  survive. 

The  action  of  "Claudian"  begins  at  Byzantium,  in  the 
year  362,  and  it  is  continued  and  concluded  at  Charydos, 
in  Bithynia,  a  hundred  years  afterward.  In  the  year 
362  Byzantium  (Constantinople)  had  but  recently  super- 
seded Rome  as  the  seat  of  the  imperial  government 
of  the  western  Roman  Empire,  and  it  was  the  gayest  and 


412  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

most  gorgeous  city  in  the  world.  Julian  "the  Apostate," 
who  abjured  Christianity  and  reopened  the  pagan  tem- 
ples, had  been  only  a  year  enthroned, — long  enough, 
however,  to  foster  persecution  of  the  Christians.  The 
tone  of  the  place  and  of  the  time  was  carnal,  cruel, 
opulent,  luxurious,  licentious,  yet  not  unleavened  by  the 
softening  influence  of  the  Christian  faith,  and  not 
unshaken  by  the  ominous  presage  of  predestined  social 
convulsion.  That  background  of  diversified,  glittering 
magnificence  and  impending  storm  was  requisite  for  the 
superb  scenic  pictures  and  the  voluptuous  and  terrific 
deeds  with  which  the  movement  of  the  tragedy  is 
launched.  The  solemn  and  awful  myth  upon  which 
"Claudian"  is  founded  is  the  ancient  story  of  the  Wan- 
dering Jew, — Cartaphilus,  Josephus,  Ahasuerus,  or  by 
whatever  name  he  may  have  been  called, — which  comes 
down  to  modern  times  from  the  chronicle  of  Roger  of 
Wendover.  It  is  a  favorite  theme  with  poets  and 
romancers,  and  in  one  form  or  another  it  has  been  freely 
used.  It  prompted  the  most  startling  of  the  fictions  of 
Eugene  Sue;  it  suggested  to  Lewis  an  episode  in  his  crazy 
'The  Monk";  it  swayed  to  the  last  the  imagination  of 
Bulwer-Lytton;  it  inspired  the  poet  Croly  in  his  fine 
romance  of  "Salathiel,"  when  he  drew  that  appalling 
picture  of  the  Ship  of  Fire,  with  its  one  lonely  occupant, 
careering  across  the  midnight  sea,  and  beheld,  over  the 
doomed  city  of  Israel,  the  glorious  vision  of  the  Temple 


"CLAUDIAN"  413 

of  Jerusalem  crumbling  in  the  heavens.  In  "Claudian" 
it  is  made  to  assume  the  investiture  of  novelty  by  the 
association  of  its  central  idea  with  a  new  set  of  persons 
and  places,  a  new  motive,  and  a  new  catastrophe  and 
consummation. 

Claudian,  a  profligate  young  noble,  having  bought, 
under  frightfully  cruel  circumstances,  a  slave,  who  is 
the  wife  of  a  poor  sculptor,  seizes  his  prey  from  beneath 
the  protection  of  a  holy  hermit,  and  stabs  to  death  the 
saintly  old  man  who  would  have  sheltered  and  preserved 
her  helpless  innocence.  The  dying  hermit  pronounces 
upon  Claudian  the  awful  doom  of  everlasting  mortal  life, 
of  everlasting  youth,  and  of  everlasting  inability  to  do 
good  without  causing  evil.  That  wretch  will  thenceforth 
walk  the  earth,  alone.  He  is  set  apart  from  other  men. 
He  can  have  no  friend.  He  can  know  no  comfort. 
Death  will  pass  him  by,  and  earth  will  deny  him  the 
refuge  of  the  grave.  There  is  one  dark  hint  given  of  his 
possible  salvation.  A  time  will  come, — and  in  the  cul- 
mination of  the  tragedy  it  does  come, — when,  being 
enraptured  with  the  ecstasy  of  a  pure  and  perfect  love, 
he  can  expiate  his  monstrous  sin  by  the  final  crucifixion 
of  his  soul,  and  thus,  by  deliberate  choice,  obtain  the 
release  of  death.  The  play  depicts  his  crime,  the 
beginning  of  his  penance,  and  the  end  of  it.  In  the 
prologue  he  is  the  genius  of  hellish  evil, — strong,  glitter- 
ing, baleful,  wicked.  In  the  play, — where  he  reappears 
as  Claudian  Andiates, — he  has  become  the  personifica- 


414  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

tion  of  virtuous  power  and  active  benevolence.  He 
repeatedly  rescues  a  good  and  beautiful  woman  from  the 
vile  persecutions  of  a  petty  despot,  and  at  length  he 
loves  her.  That  is  the  hour  of  his  fate.  He  has  taken 
her  to  his  palace,  but  an  earthquake  rends  it  asunder, 
leaving  him  unscathed,  and  still  alone,  amid  the  ruins. 
At  that  climax  the  spirit  of  the  murdered  hermit  appears 
before  him,  among  the  rifted  rocks,  and  bids  him  to 
choose  between  life  and  death.  He  endures  the  agony 
of  a  final  struggle  to  do  right.  He  yields  up  the  one 
love  of  his  life,  and  so  he  enters  into  rest. 

The  conditions  under  which  the  character  of  Claudian 
is  displayed,  though  good,  are  not  uniformly  propitious 
for  the  actor.  During  the  prologue  Claudian  acts. 
During  the  subsequent  scenes  of  the  tragedy  he  exists, 
he  suffers,  he  endures,  he  is  acted  upon,  he  is  the  cause 
of  action  in  others,  but  he  no  longer  stands  forth  con- 
spicuous as  the  active  agent  of  all  that  is  done.  He  is 
constrained  to  interest  not  so  much  by  his  deeds  as  by 
his  condition;  nevertheless,  for  persons  who  possess 
imagination,  his  significance  as  a  dramatic  figure  is 
enhanced  rather  than  diminished. 

The  text  of  "Claudian"  is  couched  partly  in  blank 
verse  but  mostly  in  rhythmical  prose.  Wills,  as  a  poet, 
possessed  a  delicate  and  sonorous  diction,  a  spontaneous 
and  graceful  play  of  fancy,  a  nimble  faculty  for  the 
invention  of  expressive  similes,  and  deep  sincerity  in  the 
utterance  of  pathos.    His  weird  passages  and  his  mourn- 


"CLAUDIAN"  415 

ful  passages  are  the  best  parts  of  his  writing,  but  all 
of  it  is  marked  by  the  aristocratic  tone  of  a  noble 
intellect  touched  with  genius.  In  humor  he  was  less 
fortunate,  and  the  humorous  part  of  his  tragedy,  trivial 
in  itself,  is  rendered  tedious  by  its  lack  of  artistic 
relevance, — even  that  of  illuminative  contrast, — to  a 
grand  and  terrible  theme.  It  is  only  too  true  that  in 
actual  life  folly  shakes  its  bauble  and  rings  its  bell 
beside  the  death-bed,  that  frivolity  titters  in  the  face 
of  grief,  and  that  the  sound  of  laughter  can  often  be 
heard  by  those  who  weep.  It  is  true  that  in  tragedy 
the  awe  and  terror  of  the  most  sublime  moments  can 
be  heightened  by  suggested  contrast  with  the  ordinary 
ripple  and  the  vacant  levity  of  common  life.  While 
Hamlet  with  shuddering,  awe-stricken  gaze  beholds  his 
imperial  father's  spirit  dimly  outlined  on  the  freezing 
midnight  air,  the  King  is  awake  within  and  "takes  his 
rouse."  But  the  purposes  of  art  are  not  rightly  served 
by  the  intrusion  of  comic  triviality  merely  to  cause  a 
laugh.  In  "Claudian"  it  is  sought  to  diffuse  a  palliative 
light  of  humor  by  the  incidental  portraiture  of  a  comic 
wrangle  between  a  pair  of  rustic  lovers, — the  young 
farmer,  Belos,  and  his  sweetheart,  Edessa, — and  the 
forced  and  needless  introduction  of  that  element  lessens 
the  majesty  of  the  play.  There  is  abundance  of  con- 
trasting embellishment  without  that  extraneous  adjunct, 
and  it  seems  strange  that  so  wise  a  dramatist  as  Wills 
did  not  suppress  it  from  his  colleague's  plot.     Strange 


410  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

also  it  certainly  is  that  both  those  authors  should  not 
have  guarded  against  the  perilous  dramatic  error  of 
monotony  in  Claudian' s  proceedings,  subsequent  to  the 
Prologue,  by  a  scrupulous  avoidance  of  repetition. 
There  is  either  poverty  of  invention  or  inadvertence 
of  judgment  in  allowing  the  hero  of  a  play  to  do 
the  same  thing  over  and  over  again. 

The  integrity  of  Almida, — who  ought  to  be  a  faultless 
heroine, — seems  a  little  dubious,  in  view  of  her  ready 
transit  from  a  tried,  proved,  faithful,  and  accepted 
lover  to  the  alluring  but  utterly  unknown  Claudian. 
Yet  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  Almida  becomes  the 
victim  of  a  supernatural  enchantment.  Her  infatua- 
tion is  not  a  guilty  one,  and  it  passes  away  at  last. 
She  is  in  a  fine  frenzy  during  its  continuance.  The 
imagination  must  be  allowed  its  license.  It  seems,  at 
first,  a  preposterous  supposition  that  the  moral  gov- 
ernment of  the  universe  would  permit  a  human  being 
to  walk  this  world  for  centuries,  diffusing  affliction 
and  ruin  upon  innocent  persons  all  along  his  track;  but 
it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  the  devastators  of  the 
human  race, — the  Neros,  the  Attilas,  the  Napoleon 
Bonapartes, — have  been  permitted,  with  quite  a  colossal 
liberality,  to  ravage  the  world  for  considerable  periods 
of  time.  The  records  of  the  past  clearly  show  that  a 
prodigal,  cruel,  wanton  waste  of  human  life  has  been 
compatible  with  the  moral  government  of  the  earth. 
[But  Claudian  is  ideal.     The  theory  about  him  is  pre- 


"CLAUDIAN"  417 

mised  as  unfeignedly  fantastic.  No  man  can  remain 
young  for  a  hundred  years.  This  man  does;  and  it  is 
his  terrific  fate  that  he  shall  forever  desire  to  do  good 
but  never  be  able  to  act  upon  his  desire  without  causing 
calamity.  In  a  paroxysm  of  cruelty,  the  natural  out- 
come of  a  bad  life,  he  has  done  a  sacrilegious  murder. 
He  must  expiate  that  crime  by  the  most  excruciating 
form  of  human  suffering,  and  ultimately  obtain  his 
redemption  by  an  act  of  sublime  self-sacrifice.  The 
scheme  is  visionary, — but  it  is  to  be  viewed  with  requisite 
and  fair  allowance,  and  it  may  justly  claim  to  be 
accepted  not  for  its  structure,  tested  by  the  prosaic 
standard  of  fact,  but  for  its  lofty  and  beautiful  mean- 
ing, when  judged  as  a  poem. 

Evil  is  in  the  world,  is  infiltrated  through  every 
particle  of  it,  and,  seemingly,  it  is  in  the  world  in  order 
that  goodness  can  have  something  over  which  to  pre- 
vail; that  nobleness  of  human  character  can  be  devel- 
oped, and  that  the  scheme  of  the  moral  universe  can  be 
redeemed  from  what  otherwise  would  be  inevitable,  the 
inane  monotony  of  abject  platitude.  Moralists,  who 
write  the  precepts  and  formulate  the  rules  which  ought 
to  govern  human  life,  the  operation  of  which  would 
make  human  life  smooth  and  pleasant  if  only  they  were 
always  successfully  followed,  are  frequently  pained 
to  observe  that  natures  originally  rich  in  nobleness  seem 
to  go  wrong  by  reason  of  those  very  endowments  which 
ought  to  make  them  go  right.     Genius  is  a  divine  gift, 


418  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

and  the  disastrous  fate  of  genius  is  proverbial.  It 
has  been  figuratively  said  that  there  is  a  special  Provi- 
dence even  in  the  fall  of  a  sparrow.  It  may  be  incum- 
bent on  the  moralist  to  assume  that  upon  natures  which 
contain  great  powers  and  possibilities  of  goodness,  yet 
have  been  surrendered,  in  all  or  in  part,  to  evil,  the 
Providence  which  chastens  all  mankind  will  impose 
special  severities  of  penance,  such  as  will  accomplish  an 
ultimate  redemption,  in  the  defeat  of  evil  and  the 
supremacy  of  good.  In  order  to  make  the  performance 
of  Claudian  noble  the  actor  must  show,  by  the  use  of 
transparency  in  his  art,  that  the  nature  of  Claudian  is 
inherently  grand;  that  his  bad  life  has  been  a  dread- 
ful outrage  upon  himself,  as  well  as  an  impious  and 
awful  defiance  of  his  Maker,  and  that  his  soul  is 
worth  the  tremendous  cost  that  must  be  paid  for  sav- 
ing it. 

Wilson  Barrett  as  Claudian  conveyed  that  essential 
meaning  of  the  part,  with  subtle  intuition  and  affluent 
artistic  felicity.  To  the  eye,  the  ear,  the  imagination 
there  was  something  in  his  presence,  his  voice,  and  his 
fine  reserve  that  showed  this  ideal  to  be  in  full  posses- 
sion of  him.  That  was  the  intrinsic  worth. of  the  per- 
formance; not  so  much  executive  ability  as  spiritual 
significance.  The  world  is  not  deeply  concerned  with 
mere  professional  skill.  An  actor  whose  influence  does 
not  radiate  beyond  artistic  proficiency  can  impart  noth- 
ing of  spiritual   value, — neither  illumination,   nor   help, 


'^mm 


t 


a  Photogi  aph  by  Sarony. 


In   the  Collection  of  tin   Author. 


WILSON     BARRETT 
as 
<  laudian,  in  "Claudian." 


"CLAUDIAN"  419 

nor  comfort, — to  other  human  souls.  This  is  the  per- 
fection of  achievement  which  so  many  artistic  toilers 
win.  An  actor,  a  poet,  a  painter,  a  sculptor,  may  be 
ever  so  cultivated,  ever  so  expert,  ever  so  important  to 
himself,  but  he  never  is  of  substantial  and  abiding  impor- 
tance to  others  unless  he  has  something  to  impart,  out 
of  the  opulent,  enkindling  vitality  of  his  mind  and  soul, 
which  can  and  does  enrich  their  perceptions  of  truth 
and  beauty,  and  thus  help  them  in  their  lives.  The 
attributes  in  which  Wilson  Barrett's  performance  was 
deficient  were  weirdness  and  pathos.  An  immortality 
of  misery  should  write  a  record  on  the  ravaged  face 
and  figure  such  as  cannot  be  put  into  words;  should 
sublimate  the  man,  and  should  make  him  the  more 
mystical  and  pathetic  because  endowed  with  an  immor- 
tality of  youth.  Wilson  Barrett  was, — at  all  times, — 
deficient  in  appreciation  of  the  supernatural  and  in  a 
profound  knowledge  of  sorrow. 

Every  successful  actor  necessarily  possesses  certain 
individual  faculties  and  qualities  which  have  accom- 
plished his  success.  Wilson  Barrett, — partly  by  natural 
growth  in  a  congenial  direction  and  partly  under  the 
influence  of  an  aesthetic  paganism  existent  in  the 
London  of  his  day, — developed  along  the  line  of  phys- 
ical sensuousness  in  dramatic  art.  Possessed  of  a  robust, 
symmetrical,  commanding  figure,  which,  nevertheless, 
lacked  height,  a  strong  Roman  head,  an  incisive,  pene- 
trating voice,  an  inveterate  power  of  will,  the  unconscious 


420  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

poise  and  slow  deliberateness  of  strength,  an  impetuous 
spirit,  strongly  tending  to  the  enjoyment  of  exuberant 
life,  yet  curbed  by  that  sense  of  beauty  which  revolts 
at  excess,  he  was  a  type  of  those  attributes  which  are 
admirable  in  classical  subjects.  His  aspect  and  per- 
sonality explained  not  alone  his  success  in  Claudian,  but 
the  acceptance  that  he  gained  in  other  personations.  He 
seemed  an  outcome  of  the  revolt  against  asceticism  and 
excessive  intellectuality  in  art,  and  as  such  congenial  to 
the  multitude.  The  defect  in  his  method  was  a  tinge 
of  lachrymose  monotony  of  demeanor,  combined  with 
a  tendency  to  preach.  When  an  actor  does  not  possess 
extraordinary  mobility  of  countenance  and  extraordinary 
flexibility  of  carriage  he  would  be  wise  to  extenuate 
that  lack  by  striking  diversity  of  action,  by  a  rich 
and  various  vocalism,  and  by  brilliancy  of  style.  Wilson 
Barrett  would  have  animated  and  illumined  the  struct- 
ure of  his  dramatic  art  by  curbing  a  propensity  toward 
the  assumption  of  pretty  attitudes  of  physical  display, 
and  by  moderating  a  tedious  proclivity  to  exhortation. 

"THE    MANXMAN." 

The  play  of  "The  Manxman,"  made  -by  Wilson 
Barrett,  on  the  basis  of  a  novel  by  Hall  Caine,  was 
presented  for  the  first  time  in  America,  on  November 
26,  1894,  at  the  American  Theatre,  New  York,  and 
Mr.  Barrett  acted  in  it  as  Pete  Quillian.  The  novel 
and  the  play  are  incongruous  as  to  moral  purpose.    The 


"THE    MANXMAN"  421 

novel  presents  simply  a  picture  of  "outrageous  fortune," 
— the  horrible  injustice  that  can  result,  and  sometimes 
doubtless  does  result,  from  human  treachery,  or  animal 
depravity,    or    moral    weakness,    or    the    force    of    low 
passions    and    the    insensate    cruelty    of    a    hard    heart. 
One  of  the  peculiarities  of  much  contemporaneous  fic- 
tion   is    the    portraiture    of    remediless    misery,    sequent 
on   hideous   wrongdoing  that   apparently   prospers   and 
never  is  punished.    This  drama,  on  the  contrary,  aims  to 
enforce  the  old  lesson  of  retribution,  teaching  by  picture 
as  well   as  precept.     The   discrepancy  is   not,    perhaps, 
important.     The  main  thing  is  that  a  play  should  be  a 
play, — that    it    should    move.      Morals    can    always    be 
trusted  to  take  care  of  themselves.    Wilson  Barrett,  not- 
withstanding his  bias  in  favor  of  declaring  obvious  Sun- 
day-school truth,  succeeded  in  making  a  powerful  play 
out    of    a    trite,    though    touching,    story — for    nothing 
could  be  more  essentially  trite,  for  the  purposes  of  the 
Stage,  than  the  posture  of  circumstances  in  which  two 
men,   at  first  being  friends,   love  the   same   woman;   in 
which   one  friend  betrays   the   confidence   of  the   other, 
and  in   which  the   woman,   either  capriciously   or   from 
irrational  weakness,  is  hurtful  to  both.     It  is  the  storv 
of  a  thousand  romances,  and  it  is  as  old  as  the  hills. 
The   dramatist,   however,   succeeds   when  he   makes   old 
things  new  by  piquant  treatment,  and  that  success  was 
achieved    bj^    Mr.    Barrett.      "The    Manxman"    derives 
zest  from  being  domiciled  in  the  Isle  of  Man, — a  region 


422  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

unhackneyed  and  fruitful  of  quaintness  and  color, — 
but  it  derives  still  greater  zest  from  its  bold,  spirited 
treatment  of  human  passions  and  complex  conduct. 

The  topic  is  painful,  but  it  is  one  that  cannot  be 
ignored.  Objection  has  been  made,  and  ought  to  be 
made,  to  the  misuse  of  it, — to  the  introduction  of  it 
for  the  wanton  purpose  of  exhibiting  vulgarity  by 
means  of  ethical  vivisection;  but  rational  thinkers  know 
the  power  that  appertains  to  the  passion  of  love  and 
the  part  which  it  plays  in  human  affairs.  The  com- 
plications, tragedies,  and  griefs  that  flow  from  its  errors 
and  its  sins  are,  naturally,  a  portion  of  the  material 
of  all  literature  and  all  art,  because  they  are  a  portion 
of  universal  experience;  but  there  is  a  right  way  of 
treating  them,  and  there  is  a  wrong  way,  and  the  wrong 
way  has,  in  recent  years,  been  unscrupulously  followed, 
to  the  serious  injury  of  the  Stage  and  Society.  "The 
Manxman"  is  not  a  "problem  play."  It  presents  an 
example  of  poignant  human  suffering  resultant  from 
weakness  and  unintentional  sin,  but  its  purpose  is 
pathos,  not  pollution.  It  does  not  expatiate  on  dis- 
ease. Its  obvious  moral  lesson  is  emphasized  with  a 
paltry  insistence, — as  if  it  were  necessary  Jo  puncture 
yourself  with  a  pin  in  order  to  ascertain  that  pins  have 
points, — but  it  is  clean  in  purpose.  It  does  not  portray 
vice  for  the  sake  of  vice,  and  it  does  not  load  the  mind 
with  filth,  and  thus  it  provides  a  striking  contrast  with 
such  pretentious  and  obnoxious  stuff  as  "The  Case  of 


"THE    MANXMAN"  423 

Rebellious  Susan"  and  "The  Masqueraders."  It  con- 
tains story,  character,  incident,  and  situation,  and  it 
is  calculated  to  ennoble  the  observer's  mind  by  showing 
a  type  of  human  greatness  amidst  adversity,  and  by 
touching  the  springs  of  human  pity.  The  situations  in 
Act  Third  are  reminiscent  of  those  in  "Belphegor"  and 
"Arrah-na-Pogue,"  but  those  in  Act  Fourth  are  original, 
and  they  are  dramatically  effective,  in  the  highest  degree. 
The  letter  expedient  is  a  stroke  of  genius.  In  the 
scene  of  the  mother's  return  to  her  child  the  play  cul- 
minates. The  incidents  of  the  story  are  deftly  employed 
to  show  the  manner  in  which  the  knowledge  of  a  great, 
terrible,  and  deplorable  wrong  was  brought  home  to 
the  victim  of  it,  and  the  sublime  patience  with  which 
he  bore  his  grief. 

In  heroic  and  also  in  domestic  drama  Wilson  Barrett 
was  one  of  the  most  accomplished  and  successful  actors 
of  his  time.  His  drift  was  neither  imaginative  nor 
spiritual,  and  therefore  his  performances  were  not 
always  sympathetic  to  those  auditors  requiring  weird- 
ness  of  atmosphere,  high  intellectuality,  and  graces  of 
a  poetic  ideal;  but  he  was  distinctively  human,  actively 
sympathetic  with  the  elemental  traits  of  everyday  char- 
acter and  the  common,  usual  joys  and  sorrows  of  man- 
kind. His  best  successes  were  gained  in  simple  types 
of  manliness,  combining  rugged  strength  with  tender 
feeling,  and  in  plays  of  a  homelike  texture  and  a 
didactic  trend.     Some  men  are  born  to  moralize,   and 


424  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

throughout  all  the  acting  of  Wilson  Barrett  there  was 
the  note  of  the  preacher.  He  sympathized  with  the 
Hermit  of  Nithside,  and  perfectly  interpreted  such 
strong,  earnest,  gentle  themes  as  moved  the  genius  of 
the  poet  Crabbe, — "Nature's  sternest  painter,  yet  the 
hest."  In  the  hero  of  "The  Manxman"  he  found  a  char- 
acter with  which  his  spirit  was  completely  harmonious, 
he  put  forth  all  his  powers,  and  he  was  seen  to  great 
advantage.  The  spirit  of  the  part  is  the  spirit  of  Enoch 
Arden.  The  image  that  the  actor  presented  was  that 
of  a  man  in  an  humble  position  of  social  life, — a  rude, 
unlettered,  simple  sailor, — whose  nature  is  all  goodness, 
and  who,  under  bitter  trial,  cruel  injustice,  and  over- 
whelming grief,  instinctively  aims, — after  the  first  wild 
impulse  of  natural  resentment, — to  bear  all  sorrows 
with  patience,  and  to  treat  all  persons  with  magnani- 
mous consideration  and  sweet  and  gentle  charity.  The 
impersonation  given  by  Wilson  Barrett,  picturesque  in 
aspect,  expeditious  in  action,  vital  with  feeling,  potent 
by  reason  of  sincerity,  and  delightful  because  of  novel 
traits  and  external  embellishments, — fresh,  characteris- 
tic, and  harmonious  with  the  part, — was  one  of  equal 
power  and  beauty,  the  power  of  simple  truth  and  the 
beauty  of  well-considered  and  effective  art.  It  bene- 
fited those  persons  who  saw  it, — because  it  touched 
their  hearts  and  because  it  strengthened  in  their  minds 
that  instinctive  belief   in   heroism   and   goodness,   which 


"THE    SECOND    MRS.    TANQUERAY"     42  J 

dwells  at  the  basis  of  human  nature  and  which  is  the 
only  sure  foundation  of  social  life.  Miss  Maud  Jef- 
fries, a  tall,  picturesque  person,  remarkable  for  her 
sensibility  and  nervous  force,  impersonated  the  heroine, 
who  is  more  a  woman  than  a  character,  and  the  more 
difficult  to  interpret  for  that  reason.  Her  acting  in  the 
earlier  scenes  was  marked  by  piquant  charm,  in  the 
later  scenes  by  the  passionate  emotion  of  self-conflict — 
for  the  woman  wishes  to  do  right,  and  is  irresistibly 
impelled  to  do  wrong. 

"THE     SECOND    MRS.    TANQUERAY." 

Pinero's  drama  of  "The  Second  Mrs.  Tanqueray" 
was  first  produced  at  the  St.  James's  Theatre,  London, 
on  May  27,  1893,  by  the  comedian  George  Alexander — 
Mrs.  Patrick  Campbell  appearing  as  its  calorific  and 
distressed  heroine  and  Alexander  as  the  fool  who 
weds  her.  The  first  presentation  of  it  in  America  was 
made  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  William  H.  Kendal,  at  the 
old  Star  Theatre,  New  York,  on  October  9,  1893. 
That  play  has  had  an  extensive,  unmerited,  hurtful, 
and  deplorable  prosperity,  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic. 
In  America  it  has  been  presented  far  and  wide  by 
various  female  "stars"  and  by  many  "stock"  companies. 
The  names  most  conspicuously  associated  with  it  are 
those  of  Mrs.  Patrick  Campbell,  Mrs.  W.  H.  Kendal, 
and  Miss  Olga  Nethersole.  The  claims  that  have  been 
made  for  it,  upon  ethical  as  well  as  theatrical  grounds, 


426  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

are  not  less  astonishing  than  absurd.  It  was,  for 
example,  declared  by  Professor  Phelps,  of  Yale  Uni- 
versity, to  be  "the  greatest  play  of  modern  times,"  and 
it  has  been  extolled  by  innumerable  public  voices  as 
the  vehicle  of  one  of  "the  greatest  of  moral  lessons." 
Such  an  encomium  as  that  of  the  Yale  professor,  uttered 
ex  cathedra,  prompts  a  desire  to  know  exactly  how 
familiar  the  maker  of  it  is  with  the  drama,  either  of 
modern  or  of  ancient  times, — and  likewise  what  may 
happen  to  be  his  standard  of  "greatness."  The  advo- 
cacy of  the  play  on  ethical  grounds  is  so  shallow  as  to 
be  both  impudent  and  pitiable.  "Tanqueray"  is  one 
of  the  most  vulgar  and  offensive  plays  that  have  been 
placed  on  the  stage  in  our  time;  it  has  exercised  a 
mischievous  influence  upon  the  taste,  the  judgment, 
and  the  moral  sense  of  the  community,  and  it  has  been 
distressingly  efficacious  in  causing  and  facilitating  pollu- 
tion of  the  silver  stream  of  pure  dramatic  literature. 

The  story  of  the  play  is  vile;  the  moral  significance 
of  it  commonplace;  and  it  is  debilitated  by  the  radical 
weakness  of  a  strenuous  didacticism.  It  possesses,  how- 
ever, dramatic  values  in  the  shape  of  effective  sit- 
uations which  adroit  constructive  skill  has  deduced 
from  consideration  of  the  pressure  of  experience  on 
character.  Paula,  the  second  Mrs.  Tanqueray,  a  hand- 
some virago,  ill-bred,  ill-tempered,  unprincipled,  self- 
willed,  and  quarrelsome,  is  a  woman  who  has,  several 
times,    become    a   mistress    before    at    last    she    becomes 


"THE    SECOND    MRS.    TANQUERAY"     427 

a  wife.  Tanqueray  is  a  fat-witted  Englishman  who 
exhibits  a  combination,  common  enough  in  life,  of 
sentimentality  and  sensuality.  Both  are  devoid  of  self- 
respect,  and  both  are  vitiated  by  that  insensate  selfish- 
ness which  makes  some  persons  indifferent  to  everything 
except  their  own  gratification.  Mr.  Tanqueray  is  a 
widower,  with  a  marriageable  daughter — resident  in  a 
French  convent.  He  has,  in  his  first  marital  venture, 
been  married  to  a  woman  who  was  "cold":  one  of  his 
friends  says  of  her,  "She  died  of  a  fever,  and  that  I 
verily  believe  is  the  only  time  in  her  life  when  she  was 
warm."  In  his  second  venture  Mr.  Tanqueray  is  deter- 
mined to  marry  a  woman  who  is  "warm" — and  he  there- 
fore selects  one  who  has  dwelt  on  terms  of  illicit  intimacy 
with  several  of  his  acquaintances.  Having  married  her, 
he  retires,  with  his  new  wife  and  his  daughter,  to  a 
country  house,  where  the  three  dwell,  for  a  consider- 
able time,  in  ignominious  discomfort.  At  last,  because 
of  iterated  quarrels,  manifold  infelicities,  and  imminent 
danger  that  her  husband  will  discover  that  an  accepted 
suitor  for  his  daughter's  hand  is  one  of  the  antecedent 
paramours  of  his  second  wife,  Paula  escapes  through 
that  dark  portal  of  egress  provided  for  so  much  human 
failure  and  misery, — suicide. 

The  theatrical  presentation  of  that  posture  of  domes- 
tic conditions  is  an  exposure  of  something  which  has 
no  legitimate  place  in  the  Theatre.  A  work  of  dra- 
matic  art    should    not    undertake    to    inculcate    morals. 


428  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

The  moral  element  is  present  in  all  things,  and  in  art 
it  ean,  therefore,  be  left  to  take  care  of  itself.  Its  nat- 
ural drift  will  regulate  and  apply  its  moral  influence 
in  a  work  of  art.  The  artistic  sense  naturally  sides 
with  Sir  Peter  Teazle,  and  earnestly  re-echoes  his 
admirable,  if  peppery,  exclamation,  "Damn  your  senti- 
ment!" 

None  of  the  presentments  of  Pinero's  super-heated 
heroine  has  been  remarkable  for  dramatic  art.  Mrs. 
Kendal,  not  a  woman  of  impulse,  and  distinctly  anti- 
pathetic to  the  Mrs.  Tanqueray  temperament,  gave  an 
embodiment  of  that  distressed  female  as  sincere  as  she 
could  make  it,  but  it  did  not  carry  conviction.  It  was 
a  thoroughly  good  theoretical  portrayal  of  distracted 
wretchedness:  it  was  no  more.  But  the  spectacle  of  the 
British  Matron,  the  proclaimed  personification  of  all  the 
Domestic  Virtues,  performing  as  a  female  rake,  tech- 
nically expert  as  it  was,  could  scarcely  be  expected  to 
touch  the  heart.  Some  things  can  be  viewed  with 
composure,  and,  saving  a  mild  wonder  that  she  should 
do  it  at  all,  Mrs.  Kendal's  performance  of  31rs.  Tan- 
queray was  one  of  them.  She  was  at  her  best  in  the 
expression  of  that  peculiar  form  of  spite  which  women 
sometimes  intend  in  satirically  polite  or  openly  imperti- 
nent encounters  with  each  other.  The  miasmic  atmos- 
phere of  the  first  American  personation  of  " Tanqueray" 
was  a  little  relieved  by  the  dignity,  sincerity,  and  ten- 
derness of  Mr.  Kendal,  in  his  treatment  of  Tanqueray 's 


"THE    SECOND    MRS.    TANQUERAY"     429 

appeal  to  Paulas  better  nature.  Perhaps  the  most 
notable  incident  of  the  first  performance  was  the  intro- 
duction to  the  American  stage  of  that  capital  comedian, 
J.  E.  Dodson,  who  acted  Cayley  Drummle. 

The  effulgent  glory  of  Mrs.  Patrick  Campbell's  per- 
sonation of  the  harlot-wife  was  not  revealed  to  the 
American  public  until  December  30,  1901,  when  she 
acted  Paula  at  Powers'  Theatre,  Chicago.  On  January 
16,  1902,  Mrs.  Campbell  burst  upon  the  vision  of 
theatrical  New  York,  at  the  Republic  Theatre.  Her 
embodiment  of  Mrs.  Tanqueray  was  consistent  and  har- 
monious— a  distinct  ideal  clearly  expressed:  but  the 
ideal  was  commonplace  and  the  expression  of  it  did  not, 
— except  at  one  point,  the  portrayal  of  utter,  wandering 
desolation  at  the  last, — rise  above  the  level  of  competent 
mediocrity.  The  tall  and  opulent  figure  of  the  actress 
was  gorgeous  with  fine  raiment,  and,  entering  sym- 
pathetically into  the  emotional  perturbations  of  a  mind 
that  wavers  between  passion  and  conscience,  she  was 
able  to  give  free  and  effective  scope  to  her  impulsive, 
excitable  temperament,  and  her  nervous,  restless  man- 
ner. The  unpleasantly  frank  motive  of  the  experi- 
mental Tanqueray's  governing  reason  in  selecting  a 
woman  for  the  vacant  position  of  helpmate  in  his  house- 
hold was,  at  least,  made  fully  intelligible  by  Mrs. 
Campbell's  aspect  and  demeanor.  She  revealed  herself 
as  an  eccentricity,  but,  in  her  wild  way,  she  possessed 
charm.      Her    denotement    of    a    wayward,    passionate 


430  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

nature,  bitterly  resentful  of  an  adverse  fate  as  well  as 
of  domestic  restrictions,  and  in  cynical  revolt  against 
social  conventions,  was  measurably  effective, — manifest- 
ing a  true  instinct  of  that  lawless  freedom  which, 
whether  in  humanity  or  nature,  when  combined  witli 
beauty,  is  always  attractive.  Her  utterances  of  velvet 
mockery  and  ill-bred  insolence  were  particularly  pun- 
gent and  effective;  and  at  the  climax,  when  Mrs.  Tan- 
queraij's  old  lover,  Hugh  Ardale,  has  turned  up,  and  her 
step-daughter's  "happiness"  (with  that  other  reformed 
profligate)  is  at  stake,  and  the  relentless  Nemesis  of 
sin  calls  aloud  for  its  prey,  she  momentarily  rose  to 
a  high  pitch  of  dramatic  abandonment.  The  defects  of 
her  performance  were  hollowness  and  artifice, — show- 
ing themselves  in  silly,  kittenish  affectation  and  sac- 
charine excess  of  elderly  blandishments, — and  an  assidu- 
ously sibilant  elocution. 

In  considering  the  ethical  quality  of  this  play  one 
of  the  principal  difficulties  encountered  is  that,  accord- 
ing to  some  of  its  admiring  exponents,  it  may  mean  so 
many  different  things.  I  have  been  assured  from  time 
to  time  (and  with  a  not  unwelcome  asperity)  that  I 
have  not  understood  the  drift  of  "The  Second  Mrs. 
Tanqueray":  possibly  that  is  true — but  I  doubt  it. 
Still,  when  a  dramatist  undertakes  to  portray  the  pos- 
sible relations  between  a  prostitute  and  a  noodle,  as 
they  impinge  upon  decent  society,  he  enters  a  some- 
what dubious  field,  where  all  observers  are  not  always 


"THE    SECOND    MRS.    TANQUERAY"     431 

able    to    follow    him.      Pinero's    play    may    mean    that, 
under    some   circumstances,    a   woman    who   has   led   an 
unchaste   life   may,   nevertheless,   be   worthy   to   become 
the  wife  of  a  reputable  man.     Or  it  may  mean  that  a 
marriage   between   a   reputable   man    and   an   approved 
wanton  is   always   unwise   and  will   always  end   in   dis- 
aster.    Or  it  may  mean  that  a  woman  who  has  done 
wrong  by  disregarding  the  conventions  of  society  is  as 
much   entitled   to   rehabilitation   and   social   re-establish- 
ment as  a  man  is  who  has  done  the  same  thing.     Or 
it  may  mean  that  marriages  between  weak-minded  men 
who  mistake  desire  for  affection  and  profligate  women 
who  have  temporarily  reformed  do  occur,  and  do  cause 
mischief.     It  may,  or  it  may  not,  carry  a  whole  freight 
train-load  of  morals,  or  immorals.     The  particular  point 
of  view  taken  of  it  does  not  signify — but  you   cannot 
force    that    truth    home    to    the    Theatrical    Moralists. 
Moral    Conditions    in    America    have    given    cause    for 
grave  uneasiness  to  many  worthy  theatrical   reformers. 
They    must,    accordingly,    derive    great    comfort    from 
reflecting  that  Father  Pinero  and  the  theatrical  Sisters 
of  Mercy  are  attentive  to  those  conditions.     The  "Tan- 
queray"  tract  and  the  preachments  from  it  have  been 
described  as  "strong."     So,  undoubtedly,  they  are — and 
so  is  the  odor  of  a  guano  barge.     But  that   does  not 
matter.     The  main  thing,  to  them,  is  the  "lesson,"  and 
surely  no  "lesson"  is  so  much  needed — whether  by  our 
youths  or  our  widowers — as  the  "lesson"  that,  after  all, 


482  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

it  is  an  error  deliberately  to  select  a  wife  from  the  demi- 
monde. Such  selection  is,  of  course,  frequently  made, 
and  the  male  population  always  repairs  to  theatrical- 
missionary  revivals,  such  as  performances  of  Pinero's 
"Tanqueray,"  when  about  to  enter  into  wedlock.  More- 
over, our  mothers,  wives,  daughters,  sisters,  and  sweet- 
hearts are  always  edified  by  contemplation  of  the 
tribulations  that  beset  this  delightful  creature,  Mrs. 
Tanqueray.  Nothing  is  so  necessary  for  them  as  to 
realize  (and  practically  to  apply  the  realization)  that 
the  woman  who  has  lived  a  vicious  life  of  carnal  grati- 
fication is  as  much  entitled  to  social  respect  and  position 
(when  she  has  tired  of  her  vicious  life  and  "chucked 
it")  as  the  woman  is  who,  living  in  honor,  dignifies 
existence,  ennobles  human  nature,  and  makes  possible 
organized  society.  Before  the  advent  of  Father  Pinero 
it  had  not,  of  course,  been  suspected  that  the  attitude 
of  society  toward  the  Erring  Sister  was  frequently 
unjust — because  of  the  inscrutable  injustice  of  Nature. 
No  one,  either,  had  ever  suspected  that  the  Erring 
Brother  is  as  bad  as  the  Erring  Sister;  the  fact  that 
he  is  often  much  worse  had  never  occurred  to  anybody. 
The  Old  Rounder,  who,  as  is  well  known,  always  camps 
on  the  trail  of  these  theatrical  revivalists,  stands  in 
dire  need  of  instruction  as  to  "social  problems,"  and, 
equally  of  course,  when  the  moral  impairment  is  being 
made  you  could  not  keep  him  out  of  their  theatres 
with   a  shotgun!     There   is   much   cause   for   rejoicing. 


"THE    SECOND    MRS.    TANQUERAY"     433 

Nothing  is  as  much  needed  by  that  hardened  person 
as  graphic  "teaching"  that,  when  he  has  been  left 
lamenting  by  the  demise  of  Number  One,  he  really 
ought  not  to  select  as  Number  Two  a  female  who  has 
qualified  for  matrimony  by  "keeping  house"  for  several 
of  his  male  associates! 

The  ground  of  objection  against  "The  Second  Mrs. 
Tanqueray,"  and  against  all  such  plays,  though  it  does 
not  seem  to  be  perceived  by  the  votaries  of  Decadent 
Drama,   ought   to   be   readily   comprehensible,    even   to 
elemental   intelligence.      Persons   who    have   a   "moral" 
to  inculcate  often   appear   to   suppose   that   they   have 
a  clear  and  perfect  right  to   over-ride  refinement  and 
delicacy  and   to   affront   good   taste   to   any   and   every 
extent;    and,    accordingly, — sometimes    with    the    best 
intentions, — they  make  themselves  intolerably  obnoxious. 
It  is  as  though  a  missionary  were  to  spit  tobacco  juice 
into  your  eyes  in  order  to  "teach"  you  that  the  habit 
of  chewing  tobacco  is  a  filthy  one.     The  notion  that  a 
Moralist,  because  he  is  a  Moralist,  may  create  a  stench 
whenever  and  wherever  he  pleases  is  an  arrogant  and 
impudent  assumption  which  ought  to  cease.    "The  Second 
Mrs.  Tanqueray"  is  a  rank  offence  against  good  taste  and 
good  manners,  absolutely  trite  in  its  "teaching,"  and  dif- 
fusive of  nothing  but  shame,  dejection,  and  disgust.     Its 
excellences  as  a  dramatic  composition  have  been  many 
times    proclaimed   as    prodigious.      Those    excellences, — 
without  being  at  all  unusual,  in  the  period  of  Westland 


434  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

Marston,  T.  W.  Robertson,  W.  S.  Gilbert,  Herman 
Merivale,  W.  G.  Wills,  Henry  Arthur  Jones,  and 
Sidney  Grundy, — are  considerable:  but,  even  though 
they  were  as  colossal  as  the  everlasting  hills,  they 
would  not  redeem  a  fabric  that  is  vulgar  in  subject, 
depressing  and  disheartening  in  moral  influence,  and 
utterly  useless  in  practical  effect.  There  is  depravity 
in  human  nature,  and  there  are  dark  and  dreadful  facts 
in  human  experience;  but  the  exploitation  of  those 
matters,  in  a  work  of  art,  can  be  justified  only, — if  at 
all, — by  the  final  impairment  of  some  practical  help, 
some  positive  good,  some  permanent  benefit,  to  man- 
kind. The  dramatist  who  merely  shows  his  photograph 
of  evil  is  only  the  scavenger  who  drops  his  load  of 
garbage  and  drives  away. 

Of  course,  it  is  only  an  old  fogey,  prejudiced  in 
favor  of  beauty,  nobility,  simplicity,  loveliness, — a  per- 
son so  out  of  date  as  to  love  the  Theatre  and  the  Art 
of  Acting,  and  to  wish  to  leave  a  dramatic  performance 
cheered  and  refreshed  by  contemplation  of  splendid 
achievement, — who  would  presume  to  utter  objection 
to  these  pious  labors.  The  idea  that  certain  performers 
— such  as  Mrs.  Patrick  Campbell,  Miss  Olga  Nether- 
sole,  Miss  Mary  Shaw,  Miss  Virginia  Harned,  and 
Mrs.  Leslie  Carter — being  unable  to  attract  remunera- 
tive attention  by  theatrical  presentation  of  pure,  fine 
plays    and    admirable    acting,    have    been,    on    occasion, 


"THE    CHRISTIAN"  435 

willing  to  attract  it  after  the  fashion  of  Voltaire's 
celebrated  monkey,  is  only  the  brutal  notion  of  a  fad- 
ing old  carper  who,  as  announced  by  Mr.  Hall  Caine, 
"ought  to  be  disvoiced" — because  he  will  persist  in 
expressing  his  judgments  and  giving  the  reasons  for 
them.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kendal  were  the  first  to  see  that 
the  salvation  of  America  depended  on  the  presentation 
here  of  Father  Pinero's  Sermon  (not  to  mention  their 
perception  of  the  numerous  dollars  that  might  be  gath- 
ered from  the  congregations) ,  and,  forthwith,  they  sailed 
for  our  benighted  land.  Brother  Kendal  was  met  as  he 
strolled  down  the  steamer's  gang-plank,  with  the  Pinero 
"Lesson"  under  his  arm,  and  was  asked  if  the  play  "is 
really  a  good  one."  "You  remind  me,"  he  said,  "of 
the  apothecary  who  was  asked  if  his  pills  were  really 
good  pills,  and  who  replied:  'Of  course  they  are! — I'm 
selling  them."  Brother  Kendal  may  have  erred  as  to 
the  worth  of  Father  Pinero's  product,  but  there  is  no 
doubt  that  it  is  "a  pill"! 

"THE    CHRISTIAN"    AND     VIOLA    ALLEN. 

When  that  excellent  actress  Viola  Allen  made  her 
first  appearance  in  New  York  as  a  star  she  came  forth, 
at  the  Knickerbocker  Theatre,  on  October  10,  1898, 
and  impersonated  Glory  Quayle,  in  a  play  by  the 
English  novelist  Hall  Caine,  ostensibly  founded^  on  his 
novel  called  "The  Christian,"  and,  accomplishing  a 
difficult  task  in  a  creditable  manner,  she  gained  auspi- 


43G  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

cious  public  favor  with  an  inchoate  character  and  an 
almost  impracticable  play.  The  public,  however, 
derived  no  material  benefit  from  Mr.  Caine's  drama, 
for  it  proved  to  be  only  a  loose,  inadequate,  ineffective 
synopsis  of  his  novel.  It  revealed  an  essayist  insisting 
that,  being  an  essayist,  he  was  also  a  dramatist,  and  a 
moralist  declaring  that  doctrines  and  precepts  are  the 
synonyms  of  situations  and  action.  The  province  of 
fiction, — so  Mr.  Caine  declared, — is  to  present  a  thought 
in  the  form  of  a  story.  There  could  not  be  a  greater 
error.  The  province  of  fiction  is  to  tell  a  tale.  The 
thought,  the  moral,  the  didactic  element,  will  always 
take  care  of  itself,  and  it  always  should  be  left  to  do  so. 
Those  authors  who  write  novels  and  make  plays  for 
the  purpose  of  teaching  lessons,  inculcating  truths, 
revolutionizing  society,  and  reforming  mankind,  become 
tedious,  and  therein  they  measurably  defeat  their  pur- 
pose. Charles  Kingsley,  Mrs.  Humphry  Ward,  Mrs. 
Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps,  and  Hall  Caine  are  types  of 
that  class, — their  works,  while  full  of  ability,  being  also 
full  of  weariness.  They  belong  to  the  family  of  Tracts: 
they  preach;  and  the  preachments  announce  themselves 
as  novels.  Mr.  Caine's  "Christian"  contains,  indeed, 
some  of  the  elements  of  a  story, — for  it  contains  char- 
acters and  incidents,  and  it  shows,  however  spasmodi- 
cally, the  movement  of  many  lives,  against  a  background 
of  social  system,  but  it  is  overwhelmed  by  didacticism, 
it  breaks  the  bounds  equally  of  reason  and  symmetry, 


"THE    CHRISTIAN"  437 

as  a  work  of  art,  and  it  insists  so  strenuously  on  "rub- 
bing in"  its  trite  and  obvious  moral  that,  practically,  it 
comes  at  last  to  be  only  a  treatise  on  sociology. 

Mr.  Caine,  in  his  novel  and  in  his  drama,  signified 
his  conviction  that  things  are  in  a  bad  way  in  the  city 
of  London;  that  England  needs  apostles;  that  the 
Established  Church  ought  to  be  disestablished;  that  the 
hungry  poor  ought  to  be  fed;  that  women  are  often 
shamefully  treated  by  men;  that  society  is  wickedly 
cruel  toward  the  female  sinner  and  hypocritically  lenient 
toward  her  masculine  paramour;  that  something  ought 
immediately  to  be  done,  to  rectify  this  wrong,  and  that 
there  is  urgent  need  of  reformatory  legislation.  All 
this  is,  substantially,  true,  but  all  this  might  better  be 
said  in  Exeter  Hall  or  in  Parliament  than  in  either  a 
novel  or  a  play.  It  is  wrong  and  useless  to  endeavor  to 
convert  either  the  field  of  Fiction  or  the  field  of  the 
Stage  into  a  forum  for  the  discussion  of  social  problems. 
No  theatrical  audience  can  be  found  that  will  long 
endure  the  Moral  Bore.  That  experiment  has  been 
tried,  over  and  over  again,  and  it  has  always  failed. 
A  play  that  preaches  is  a  play  that  as  a  ylay  will  perish, 
however  it  may  survive  as  a  polemic,  whereas  a  real 
play, — which  shows  a  moving  picture  of  interesting  life, 
and  commends  it  to  the  imagination  and  the  genial 
feelings  by  delicate  exaggeration  and  by  humor  and 
brilliancy, — contains  the  elements  of  perpetuity.  "The 
Rivals,"  which  was  first  acted  more  than  a  hundred  years 


438  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

ago,  is  acted  now,  and  a  hundred  years  from  now  it, 
probably,  will  still  be  acted.  Everybody  knows  that 
there  is  a  frightful  amount  of  evil  in  society.  One  of 
those  wise  old  Hebrews  who  wrote  and  constructed  the 
Jewish  Bible  has  noticed  that  the  human  heart  is  deceit- 
ful above  all  things  and  desperately  wicked.  Shakespeare 
has  remarked  that  "In  the  corrupted  currents  of  this 
world  Offence's  gilded  hand  may  shove  by  Justice." 
Some  clergymen  are  hypocrites.  Some  men  are  liber- 
tines. Even  some  of  the  Sisters  are  not  as  angelic  as 
they  might  be.  But  nobody  reads  a  novel  or  attends 
a  theatre  for  the  purpose  of  a  lecture  on  Civil  Govern- 
ment, Religious  Organization,  Puseyism,  the  Oxford 
Movement,  Butler's  "Analogy,"  the  question  of  Celibacy 
in  the  Priesthood,  or  the  Regeneration  of  the  Human 
Race.  Things  of  that  kind  have  their  place,  and  moral- 
ists will  always  discuss  them:  nothing  is  more  astonish- 
ing than  the  confidence  that  amiable  and  enthusiastic 
reformers  display  in  the  efficacy  of  making  statutes  and 
passing  resolutions:  but  the  place  for  those  things  is 
not  the  Stage. 

Mr.  Caine's  play  differs  somewhat  from  Mr.  Caine's 
novel.  The  author  did  not  try  to  reproduce  all  his 
didacticism,  but  he  remained  didactic.  The  theme  of 
the  drama  is  the  love  of  a  man  and  a  woman,  as 
affected  by  religious  enthusiasm  on  the  one  hand,  and, 
transiently,  by  waywardness  and  vanity  on  the  other. 
The    man    is   John   Storm,    a   young    clergyman,    who 


"THE    CHRISTIAN"  439 

wishes  to  reform  the  world,  and  the  woman  is  Glory 
Quayle,  a  young  woman  from  the  Isle  of  Man,  who 
goes  to  London  to  seek  her  fortune,  first  as  a  hospital 
nurse,  and  subsequently  as  a  music-hall  player.  In 
actual  life  those  persons  would  have  reached  an  under- 
standing far  more  readily  than  they  are  permitted  to  do 
in  either  the  novel  or  the  play,  and  without  passing 
through  nearly  as  much  tribulation  as  their  author  has 
allotted  to  them.  Storm,  is  young,  strong,  sincere,  self- 
centred,  devout,  and  passionate.  He  loves  a  beautiful 
girl,  and  also  he  loves  his  religious  duty.  The  religious 
duty  impels  him  in  one  way,  while  the  beautiful  girl 
draws  him,  still  more  strongly,  in  another.  Glory 
Quayle  is  exuberant,  wayward,  and  capricious,  intoxi- 
cated with  the  novelty  of  her  adventurous  city  life,  and 
headstrong  with  the  sense  of  conscious  beauty  and  power. 
Storm  tries,  for  a  while,  to  persuade  himself  that  he 
can  live  without  love  and  without  the  woman  whom 
he  worships.  Glory  Quayle  tries,  for  a  while,  to  per- 
suade herself  that  popularity,  flirtation,  and  "a  good 
time"  in  general  will  enable  her  to  dispense  with  the 
man  whom  she  loves, — as  long  as  she  can  keep  him 
dangling  behind  her.  At  the  last  they  are  reconciled, 
and  the  young  Manxwoman  discards  the  gay  world, 
and  devotes  herself,  in  a  submissive,  Christian  spirit, 
to  love  and  duty.  There  is  not  much  left  of  the  novel 
when  the  polemics  are  taken  out  of  it,  but  Mr.  Caine, 
in  his  drama,  strenuously  insisted  on  declaring  that  duty 


UO  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

is  a  fine  thing,  and  that  "the  course  of  true  love  never 
did  run  smooth." 

Viola  Allen  seemed  not  to  have  formed  a  distinct 
ideal  of  the  character  of  Glory  Quayle,  but  the  ambiguity 
of  the  actress  was  not  remarkable,  in  view  of  the 
ambiguity  of  the  author, — for  Glory  Quayle  is  not  dis- 
tinctly depicted,  either  in  the  play  or  in  the  book.  The 
physical  image  that  the  author  appears  to  have  had 
in  his  mind  seems  to  have  been  prompted  by  remem- 
brance of  Miss  Ellen  Terry.  Glory  Quayle  is  "more 
than  common  tall"  and  has  magnificent  golden  hair  and 
exceedingly  large  gray  eyes,  in  one  of  which  there  is  a 
brown  spot;  and  she  is  possessed  of  a  voice  that  can 
grow  deep  and  delicious,  so  as  to  wile  even  a  bear  out 
of  his  winter  quarters.  Miss  Allen,  although,  in  a 
different  style,  she  possesses  a  beauty  of  her  own,  could 
not  correspond  to  that  description,  and  neither  did  she 
suggest  a  temperament  as  unstable  as  water,  or  a  mind 
as  volatile  as  a  puff  of  wind.  The  girl  represented  by 
her  was  now  one  thing  and  now  another,  but  in  so  far 
as  she  was  clearly  anything  she  was  a  sensuous,  coquet- 
tish, capricious  young  woman,  tempting  a  man  and 
playing  with  him,  but  suddenly  revealing,  at  last,  moral 
principle  and  a  solid  fibre  of  character.  It  would  be 
difficult  to  match  that  ideal  with  anything  in  life.  In 
the  book  the  portraiture  of  Glory  Quayle  defies  every 
standard  of  probability  that  ever  was  erected, — for  her 
letters,   which  are   numerous,   are  not   the  letters  of  a 


"THE    CHRISTIAN"  441 

girl,  but  those  of  an  accomplished  old  hand  at  the 
literary  bellows,  perfectly  acquainted  with  the  ways  of 
the  world,  particularly  clever  in  satirical  "digs"  at 
society,  and  specially  eager  to  show  his  cleverness;  and 
the  constant  wonder  is  that  a  young  woman  so  wise  in 
mind  and  so  piquant  in  wit  should  be  so  utterly  foolish 
in  conduct.  Mr.  Caine  might  visit  the  Corinthian  Club 
of  London,  but  no  girl  capable  of  writing  those  letters 
would  ever  have  gone  there,  or  ever  have  gone  to  supper 
in  Mr.  Drake's  chambers.  Neither  would  any  woman, 
after  the  avowal  which  occurs  between  Glory  Quayle 
and  Storm  in  the  fourteenth  section  of  Mr.  Caine's 
third  book  of  "The  Christian,"  ever  have  broken  her 
word.  It  is  a  bold  man  who  speaks  positively  about 
female  human  nature,  but  there  are  a  few  truths  as  to 
that  subject  which  have  been  ascertained,  and  one  of 
them  is  that  when  once  a  woman  has  actually  and 
finally  given  her  heart  she  is  as  true  as  heaven.  Some 
years  ago  there  was  a  novelist  in  England  capable  of 
giving  important  hints  to  even  the  wisest  of  his  brethren. 
His  name  was  Wilkie  Collins,  and  this  is  one  of  the 
truths  that  he  declared:  "The  growth  of  the  better 
nature  in  woman  is  perfected  by  love.  Love  is  religion, 
in  women.  It  opens  their  hearts  to  all  that  is  good 
for  them,  and  it  acts  independently  of  the  conditions  of 
human  happiness." 

The  adroit  precision  with  which  the  author  of  "The 
Christian"    culled,    for   reproduction   in    his   play,    the 


442  THE    .WALLET    OF    TIME 

most  telling  points  in  his  story  was  found  to  be  the 
chief  merit  of  mechanism  in  the  fabric  of  the  drama. 
The  denunciation  of  Lord  Ure  was  made  to  provide  one 
opportunity  for  Storm,  and  the  fanatic's  delirious 
attempt  to  kill  Glory  Quayle,  in  order  to  save  her  soul, 
was  made  to  afford  an  opportunity  to  both.  It  is  a  pity 
that  Shakespeare,  in  writing  the  Fifth  Act  of  "Othello," 
should  so  far  have  preceded  Mr.  Caine,  not  only  in  the 
felicity  of  a  dramatic  situation  but  in  the  assignment 
of  an  adequate  motive  for  it:  those  old  writers  are  con- 
tinually obstructing  the  manifestations  of  modern  genius. 
Miss  Allen  was  not  less  powerful  than  lovely  in  her 
passionate  appeal  to  the  crazy  lover's  saving  remem- 
brance of  the  past,  and  she  was  exceedingly  felicitous 
and  touching  in  a  condition  of  hysterical  excitement, 
when  rejecting  him. 

Edward  Morgan  presented  Storm.  It  would  be 
difficult  for  an  actor  to  impersonate  that  over-con- 
scientious and  supersensitive  ecclesiastic  in  such  a  way 
as  to  commend  him  to  sympathy.  The  actor,  in 
this  case,  assumed  a  sour,  forbidding  countenance,  a 
harsh  voice,  and  that  stony  manner  which  is  thought, 
on  the  contemporary  stage,  to  evince  intense  emotion 
and  sublime  austerity,  and  by  those  means  he  success- 
fully embodied  one  of  those  disturbing  and  distressing 
moralists  who  think  that  the  whole  angelic  host  is  agi- 
tated when  any  one  of  them  happens  to  have  a  pain 


From  u  Photograph. 


In  the  Collection  of  the*Author 


VIOLA     ALLEN 

as 

Glory  Quayle,  in  "The  Christian." 


"THE    CHRISTIAN"  443 

in  his  stomach.  When  a  lover  has  reached  the  con- 
dition in  which  he  wishes  to  slaughter  the  object  of  his 
love  in  order  to  save  her  soul  the  time  has  come  for 
putting  him  not  into  a  work  of  art,  but  into  a  strait- 
jacket.  A  religious  enthusiast  who  has  not  got  beyond 
carnal  temptation  has  not  travelled  very  far.  The 
reader  has  only  to  contrast  John  Storm  with  Scott's 
Balfour  of  Burley,  or  with  Gerard  in  Reade's  "The 
Cloister  and  the  Hearth,"  to  see  what  a  shadow  he  is, 
in  presence  of  the  grim  reality. 

"IT    MAKES    A    DIFFERENCE    WHOSE    OX    IS    GORED." 

The  curious  experience  through  which  a  dramatic 
critic  must  pass  who  ventures  to  express  his  convictions 
about  the  plays  and  acting  that  he  sees,  without  heed 
of  the  way  in  which  those  convictions  may  impress 
authors  and  actors,  is  instructively  indicated  by  the 
following  correspondence. 

A  few  days  prior  to  the  New  York  production  of  Mr. 
Caine's  play  of  "The  Christian"  Mr.  Ripley  Hitchcock 
was  so  kind  as  to  forward  to  me  the  following  extract 
from  a  letter  written  by  the  distinguished  English 
novelist : 

"I  should  like  very  much  to  tell  Mr.  Winter  how  fine, — how 
very  fine, — I  thought  his  criticism  on  'Cyrano'  was.  Nothing 
half  so  good  has  been  said  on  that  subject,  much  as  it  has  been 
discussed.     The  motif  of  the  Drama  is  appraised  at  its  absolute 


444  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

value,  and  the  whole  estimate  is  the  fairest,  the  justest,  the  most 
exact  I  >i  right. 

"As  you  know,  the  central  incident  of  the  play  is  one  which 
has  occupied  my  own  mind  a  good  deal.  I  have  dealt  with  the  unre- 
quited lover  in  two  books,  and  even  the  machinery  of  the  letters, 
etc.,  I  have  employed.  Therefore,  I  think  I  ought  to  know  the 
height  and  depth  of  the  passion  depicted.  It  is  a  very  beautiful 
and  touching  passion,  but  Cyrano  does  not  reach  the  full  height 
of  it,  or  go  down  to  the  full  depth.  Mr.  Winter  sees  this  as 
no  other  critic  seems  to  have  seen  it.  In  Sydney  Carton,  for 
example,  the  thing  reaches  a  far,  far  finer  development.  And 
then,  the  unworthiness  of  the  woman,  her  shallowness,  her  light- 
ness, take  enormously  from  the  power  of  the  motive.  To  see  this 
passion  of  self-sacrifice  at  its  height  and  depth,  the  woman  must 
be  a  noble  creature,  the  other  man  must  be  noble,  and  the  only 
tragic  mischief  must  be  destiny — the  mysterious  law  of  human 
love. 

"While  so  much  silly  talk  is  heard  it  is  delightful  to  realize  that 
the  art  of  criticism  still  lives.  If  I  knew  Mr.  Winter  well  enough 
I  would  say  this  to  himself." 

A  few  days  after  the  publication  of  my  views  of 
"The  Christian"  Mr.  Caine  favored  the  Public  with 
the  following: 

"'THE    CHRISTIAN' AND     ITS    CRITICS." 

"I  am  asked  by  many  friends  and  well-wishers  if  the  motive  of 
'The  Christian'  has  not  been  grievously  misunderstood  in  some  quar- 
ters. My  answer  may  be  direct  and  emphatic  and  it  need  not  be 
very  long.  The  public  has  not  misunderstood  the  motive  of  the  play. 
When  people  pay  for  seats  in  a  theatre  and  go  there  to  be  entertained 
they  are  in  an  honest  frame  of  mind,  and  it  is  easy  to  make  them 
understand.  The  people  who  pay  for  their  seats  at  the  Knicker- 
bocker Theatre  understand  'The  Christian.' 


MISCELLANEOUS    COMMENT  445 

"But  the  people  who  go  there  because  they  must,  because  going 
to  the  theatre  is  their  every-day  work,  may,  or  may  not,  be  in  an 
honest  frame  of  mind.  They  may  be  tired  of  all  theatres  and  all 
plays,  weary  of  all  entertainment,  sick  of  all  labor,  stupid  and  soured 
and  disappointed.  Under  such  conditions  it  is  not  only  easy  for  a 
man  to  misunderstand  the  motive  of  a  play, — there  is  a  perpetual 
temptation  to  him  to  do  so.  Then,  if  he  is  old  and  worn,  if  he  has 
seen  much  labor,  if  his  ideals  are  rooted  in  the  past,  if  his  own  life  has 
yielded  no  results  adequate  to  his  gifts,  it  is  not  only  hard  for  him 
to  be  generous,  it  gives  him  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to  be  just  and 
honest. 

"Such  appears  to  be  the  case,  in  a  few  instances,  with  the  writers 
who  have  claimed  to  find  'The  Christian'  an  unchristian  play.  One 
of  these  writers  tells  his  readers  that  the  fanatic  who  has  not  got 
beyond  carnal  temptation  has  not  gone  very  far.  There  is  only  one 
way  to  deal  with  a  statement  like  this,  and  that  is,  to  brand  it  at 
once,  as  a  deliberate  and  palpable  misstatement.  There  is  no  car- 
nality in  the  relations  of  John  Storm  and  Glory  Quayle.  There  is  no 
excuse  for  saying  there  exists  anywhere  so  much  as  the  suggestion  of 
carnality,  and  the  critic  who  makes  the  statement  ought  to  be  dis- 
voiced.     He  is  not  an  honest  man,  and  he  knows  it. 

"A  religious  enthusiast  built  on  the  lines  of  the  early  Christians, 
counting  the  body  as  nothing  and  the  soul  as  all  in  all,  conceives  the 
idea  that  a  girl  whom  he  loves  is  being  demoralized  by  association 
with  certain  men.  He  tries  to  rescue  her  from  ruin,  and  she  will 
not  be  rescued.  Then  a  Voice  seems  to  come  to  him  from  heaven: 
'Save  her  at  all  costs.  She  is  tottering  on  the  brink  of  hell.  Better 
a  life  ended  than  a  life  degraded  and  a  soul  destroyed.'  He  resolves 
to  kill  her  body  that  he  may  save  her  soul. 

"Now  this  is  a  resolution  coming  out  of  the  very  heart  of  spiritual 
love  and  religious  enthusiasm.  It  has  inspired  the  righteous  fanatic 
a  thousand  times.  The  history  of  religious  persecution  is  full  of  this 
incident.  You  may  find  it  in  the  Bible.  You  may  hear  its  echo  in 
the  words  of  St.  Paul:  'Deliver  him  up  to  Satan  for  the  destruction 
of  the  body  that  his  soul  may  be  saved  in  the  day  of  the  Lord.' 

"The  man  goes  to  the  girl's  rooms,  on  this  errand.  The  girl  fights 
for  her  life  and  saves  it.     How?     By  the  sacrifice  of  her  virtue? 


446  THE    WALLET    OF.    TIME 

There  is  not  the  remotest  suggestion  of  such  an  outrage  on  art  and 
decency.  The  scene  of  her  struggle  is  the  last  illustration  of  the 
purity  of  her  character. 

"She  meets  the  man  on  his  own  terms.  He  loves  her:  that  is  the 
first  fact.  His  love  is  the  root  of  his  fanaticism.  She  conquers  his 
spiritual  frenzy  by  an  appeal  to  his  human  affections.  One  by  one 
she  brings  back  the  memories  of  their  happy  and  innocent  childhood ; 
tells  him  of  the  days  when  they  played  and  sang  and  rowed  together; 
says  she  dreams  of  herself  as  she  used  to  be  in  those  dear  old  times. 
Now  that  she  is  a  famous  actress  [!!!!]  she  sometimes  gets  herself 
up  on  the  stage  in  the  jersey  and  stocking-cap  of  earlier  days,  and 
in  the  middle  of  a  scene  she  bursts  out  crying. 

"The  human  chord  is  touched,  but  the  man  struggles  to  hold  on  to 
his  fanatical  purpose.  'Why  do  you  remind  me  of  those  days?'  he 
says.  Ts  it  only  to  make  me  realize  the  change  in  you?'  'Am  I  so 
much  changed?'  she  answers,  and  to  show  him  she  is  the  same  as 
ever,  and  it  is  only  the  surroundings  of  her  person  and  her  life  that 
are  different,  she  tears  down  her  hair  from  its  knot,  that  it  may 
fall  on  to  her  shoulders  like  the  hair  of  a  young  girl,  and  drags  away 
the  lace  from  her  neck  that  her  dress  may  resemble  her  girlish  jersey. 

'  'Look  at  me,'  she  cries.  'Am  I  not  the  same  as  ever?'  In  other 
words,  'Isn't  this  she  whom  you  loved  when  she  was  an  innocent 
girl  and  you  were  a  happy  boy,  and  no  evil  thoughts  of  the  world  and 
the  flesh  and  the  devil  had  come  between  us?'  The  woman  conquers. 
Spiritual  frenzy  gives  place  to  human  love.  The  man  in  the  man 
triumphs.     The  fanatic  in  the  man  fails. 

"Thus  far  the  incident  was  made  to  go  in  the  novel,  and  at  that  point, 
for  artistic  reasons  which  seemed  to  me  sufficient,  the  incident  ended. 
Even  then  there  was  no  excuse  for  hurtful  interpretations,  but  there 
was,  at  least,  a  plausible  explanation  of  them.  In  the  play  there 
is  no  excuse  and  no  honest  explanation,  either,  for  any  hurtful  inter- 
pretation whatever.  On  the  top  of  the  climax  Storm  is  torn  from 
Glory's  arms  and  turned  into  the  street,  and  the  evil  machine  of  the 
play,  intruding  himself  into  the  woman's  room  with  the  expectation 
of  surprising  her  in  her  lover's  arms,  finds  her  on  her  knees  praying 
for  his  protection. 

"I  need  go  no  farther.     The  people  who  see  'The  Christian'  don't 


MISCELLANEOUS    COMMENT  447 

need  this  exposition  of  the  motive  of  its  central  incident,  but  for 
those  who  do  not  go  to  theatres,  and  for  those  who  might  stay  away 
from  fear  of  an  unchristian  illustration  of  Christian  character,  I  have, 
with  extreme  reluctance  and  deep  personal  regret,  taken  this  unusual 
means  of  defeating  the  purposes  of  what  I  am  sorry  to  call  a  most 
hurtful  and  intentional  falsehood. 

"Hall  Caine." 


"REPLY."— 1. 

The  "one"  literary  sinner  specifically  indicated  in  the  above 
statement  is  the  hideous  miscreant  who  writes  this  paragraph. 
In  his  deplorable  condition  of  age,  decrepitude,  penury,  cynicism, 
stupidity,  and  universal  disgust  it  is,  of  course,  hard  for  him 
to  be  generous  and  well-nigh  impossible  for  him  to  be  just  or 
honest.  But  if  this  miserable  being,  feebly  tottering  on  the  con- 
fines of  irretrievable  ignominy,  might  be  allowed  to  summon  the 
lingering  relics  of  his  ancient  candor,  he  would  like  to  say 
that  never  for  one  instant  did  the  thought  which  Mr.  Caine 
has  ascribed  to  him  come  into  his  mind ;  that  never  for  one 
moment  did  he  even  dream  of  imputing  a  low,  bad,  or  in  any  way 
unworthy  motive  either  to  Mr.  Caine,  or  to  Mr.  John  Storm,  the 
hero  of  Mr.  Caine's  novel  and  play.  Malign,  and  venomous,  and 
abandoned  as  this  senile  creature  knows  himself  to  be,  he  would 
have  been  horrified  at  such  a  thought,  and  he  is  frankly  aston- 
ished at  such  an  imputation.  When  he  wrote  that  "a  religious 
enthusiast  who  has  not  got  beyond  carnal  temptation  has  not 
travelled  very  far,"  all  in  the  world  that  he  meant  to  say  was 
that, — speaking  generally,  and  with  reference  to  a  class  of  per- 
sons and  a  representative  mental  and  physical  condition, — an 
ascetic  devotee  who  is  still  capable  of  being  in  love  with  a 
woman  has  not  made  much  progress  on  the  road  to  asceticism. 
The  remark  had  no  intentional  reference  whatever  to  Mr.  Caine's 
modern  paraphrase  of  the  sacrificial  scene  in  "Othello,"  but  was 
a  mere  philosophic  comment  on  the  ingredients  of  fanatical  char- 


448  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

acter.  A  finer  phrase  than  "carnal  temptation"  might,  perhaps, 
have  been  selected  with  which  to  designate  man's  love, — although 
such  phraseology  would,  probably,  have  been  indorsed  by  both 
Saint  Anthony  and  Saint  Augustine,  the  principal  historic 
ecclesiastical  sufferers  from  that  complaint ;  but  it  is  not  every 
writer  who  possesses  Mr.  Hall  Caine's  exquisite  felicity  in  the 
choice  of  language — a  felicity  which  seems  to  be  associated  with 
great  sweetness  of  temper,  lovely  refinement  of  style,  and  a  most 
urbane  and  benevolent  tolerance,  even  for  an  old  and  worn 
wretch  who,  as  he  dodders  into  the  evening  twilight  of  a  misspent 
life,  is  actually  able  to  gaze  upon  the  play  of  "The  Christian" 
without  being  paralyzed  with  admiration. 

William  Winter. 

2.— "OUR   CHRISTIAN   FRIEND   HALL   CAINE." 

"To  the  Editor: 

"Sir:  It  lately  pleased  Mr.  Hall  Caine,  writing  in  your  paper, 
to  defend  his  play  of  'The  Christian'  from  an  aspersion  that  had 
never  been  cast  upon  it,  and,  incidentally,  to  accuse  me  of  dis- 
honesty, calumny,  and  intentional  falsehood.  It  also  pleased  Mr. 
Caine,  while  designating  me  as  old,  poor,  impecunious,  fossilized, 
and  stupid,  to  recommend  my  discharge  from  my  present  employ- 
ment. 'He  ought  to  be  disvoiced,'  said  Mr.  Caine;  'he  is  not  an 
honest  man,  and  he  knows  it.' 

"This  remark  was  rather  more  than  the  'Reproof  Valiant';  in 
fact,  it  was  the  'Countercheck  Quarrelsome.'  But  persons  who 
consider  themselves  celestially  commissioned  to  reform  their 
neighbors  usually  take  a  wide  latitude  as  to  their  parts  of  speech, 
and,  in  immediate  response  to  Mr.  Caine's  accusation,  I  was 
content  to  make  it  clear  that  he  had  written  in  excessive  wrath, 
and  without  any  ground  whatever,  aside  from  his  mistaken 
fancy,  on  which  to  base  his  grievance  or  justify  his  insolent 
language. 


"THE    CHILDREN    OF    THE    GHETTO"    449 

"Some  time  has  passed  since  the  publication  of  Mr.  Caine's 
statement  and  of  my  reply  to  it,  but  I  do  not  hear  that  Mr. 
Caine  has  said  a  word  of  regret  for  his  uncouth  ebullition  of 
folly  and  abuse.  Having  assumed  the  attitude  of  an  impudent 
vilifier,  he  is,  apparently,  willing  to  remain  on  exhibition  in  that 
character.  Each  to  his  choice.  Mr.  Caine  registers  himself  as 
a  blathering  rhapsodist,  flatulent  with  the  wind  of  doctrine  and 
giddy  with  self-conceit.  It  was  long  ago  observed  by  Launcelot 
Gobbo  that  'this  making  of  Christians  will  raise  the  price  of 
hogs' :  Mr.  Caine's  conduct  shows  that  it  can  also  raise  the  animal 
himself. 

"William  Winter. 

"Fort  Hill,  New  Brighton,  Staten  Island,  Oct.  21,  1898." 

"THE    CHILDREN     OF    THE     GHETTO." 

In  Israel  Zangwill's  novel  called  "The  Children  of  the 
Ghetto,"  an  elaborate,  discursive  portrayal  of  the 
domestic  life  of  the  Jews  in  the  London  Ghetto,  much 
instruction  is  provided  as  to  the  manners  and  customs 
of  his  exiled,  wandering  race.  The  author  has  assembled 
a  series  of  episodes  of  the  experience  of  various  Jewish 
families  and  of  individual  Jews, — these  episodes  being 
thinly  connected,  or  not  connected  at  all,  by  a  strain 
of  narrative  which  is  sometimes  sprightly,  oftener  prolix 
and  ponderous,  and  invariably  and  consistently  fitful  and 
erratic.  A  book  more  difficult  to  read  has  seldom  been 
written,  and  yet  it  is  a  book  which  contains  much  truth 
and  one  that  is  worthy  of  study.  The  description  of 
"the  Hyamses'  Honeymoon"  and  the  description  of  the 
death  of  little  Benjamin  Ansell,  if  they  had  been  written 


( 


4oO  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

by  Charles  Dickens,  would  have  been  hailed  as  excep- 
tional achievements  of  characterization  and  pathos.  Such 
conversations  as  the  bellicose  colloquies  between  Mrs. 
Isaacs  and  Mrs.  Jacobs,  quarrelling  over  their  offspring, 
or  the  domestic  dialogues  at  the  Phillips  banquet,  or  the 
interchange  of  belligerent  epithets  at  Sugarmans  feast, 
and  such  distinctive  and  well-drawn  characters  as  the  old 
gypsy,  Malka  Birnbaum,  with  her  symbolical  clothes- 
brush;  the  lone,  fanatical  scholar,  Joseph  Strelitski,  and 
the  irrepressible  and  intolerable  poet,  Melchitzedek  Pin- 
ch as,  are  true  to  actual  life, — revealing  at  once  a  faculty 
of  keen  observation  and  a  rare  talent  for  literal  state- 
ment. The  reader  is  as  much  wearied  by  Mr.  Zangwill's 
faithful  account  of  those  Jewish  family  parties  and  per- 
sons as  he  wrould  be  if  he  wTere  constrained  to  associate 
with  them,  in  their  congenial  atmosphere  of  fried  fish. 
The  prosy  fidelity  of  the  book  is  dreadful.  Epigram- 
matic vivacity,  Mr.  Zangwill's  predominant  characteristic 
when  he  speaks,  seems  almost  entirety  to  desert  him 
when  he  writes.  Traces  of  it,  indeed,  do  occasionally 
appear,  as  when  he  says,  of  a  versatile  character,  "There 
wras  nothing  he  could  not  do  badly";  or,  of  a  formalist 
in  ritualism,  that  "a  man  is  not  half  bad  who  does  three- 
fourths  of  his  duty";  or,  of  a  dreary  female  scribbler, 
that  "she  WTote  domestic  novels  to  prove  that  she  had 
no  sense  of  humor";  or,  of  the  "modern  schools,"  that 
"they  get  rid  of  the  old  beliefs,  but  cannot  give  up  the 


"THE    CHILDREN    OF    THE    GHETTO"    451 

old  names";  or,  of  certain  disciples,  that  "They  squeeze 
the  teaching  of  the  Master  in  their  own  mental  moulds, 
and  are  ready  to  die  for  the  distortion";  or,  of  the  per- 
versity of  human  malice,  that  "while  the  Old  Testament 
has  no  reference  to  a  future  existence,  the  poor  Jew 
has  no  more  been  able  to  live  without  the  hope  of  Hell 
than  the  poor  Christian."  But  those  flashes  are  spo- 
radic and  infrequent.  For  the  most  part,  the  chronicle 
is  one  of  exceedingly  small  beer,  and  in  the  matter  of 
form  it  follows  Disraeli's  abrupt  and  whimsical  method 
of  fugacious  memoranda,  with  but  little  of  Disraeli's 
pungency  and  with  nothing  of  his  wisdom,  his  sad  irony, 
or  his  emotional  depth.  That  form  is  unsymmetrical, 
and  Mr.  Zangwill's  style  in  this  work,  whether  from 
immaturity  or  lack  of  clarity  and  polish,  is  sluggish. 
It  is  about  as  far  removed  from  drama  as  any  work  of 
fiction  could  be,  yet  it  was  selected  as  the  basis  of  a 
play,  and  that  play,  after  representations  in  Washing- 
ton, Baltimore,  and  Philadelphia,  was  brought  out  in 
New  York,  on  October  16,  1899,  at  the  Herald  Square 
Theatre. 

In  the  play  that  the  novelist  has  founded  on  his  book, 
although  it  is  redundant  with  needless  incidents,  prolix 
in  language,  and  unmercifully  tedious  in  the  exposition 
of  the  commonplace  of  actual  and  very  stupid  life,  Mr. 
Zangwill  has  been  more  direct  and  explicit.  The  story 
that  he  had  to  tell  is  mainly  that  of  a  girl's  temptation 
to   elope    with   her   lover,    and   to    marry,   against    her 


452  THE    .WALLET    OF    TIME 

father's  will;  of  her  mental  struggle  between  love  and 
duty;  and  of  her  ultimate  triumph  over  her  amatory 
inclination.  Her  name  was  Hannah  Jacobs.  She  was 
the  daughter  of  the  Rev.  Samuel  Jacobs,  called  Reb 
Shemuel.  Her  lover's  name  was  David  Brandon,  and 
she  was  as  devotedly  fond  of  him  as  he  was  of  her. 
Their  course  of  true  love  was  just  beginning  to  run 
smooth,  and  it  might  have  continued  to  run  smooth,  even 
to  the  nuptial  altar,  but  for  the  interposition  of  a  clumsy 
joke.  At  a  festival  called  "Pidyun  Haben"  a  frolic- 
some Jew,  named  Sam  Levine,  who  had  bought  a 
wedding  ring  for  his  sweetheart,  Leah,  undertook  to 
tease  Leah  by  forcibly  seizing  the  right  hand  of  Hannah 
Jacobs  and  putting  the  ring  on  her  forefinger,  exclaim- 
ing as  he  did  so,  "Behold,  thou  art  consecrated  unto  me 
by  this  ring,  according  to  the  Law  of  Moses  and  Israel." 
This  horseplay,  in  the  presence  of  witnesses,  was  found 
to  have  constituted  a  genuine  marriage.  Hannah 
Jacobs  was  obliged  to  obtain  a  divorce,  which  is  called 
"Gett."  "If  you  play  with  fire,"  said  her  reverend 
father,  "you  must  expect  to  be  scorched."  That  proved 
to  be  sadly  true,  for  immediately  that  the  question  arose 
of  a  marriage  between  Hannah  Jacobs  -and  David 
Brandon  it  was  announced,  by  Hannah's  father,  speak- 
ing as  a  rabbi,  that  David  was  "a  Cohen," — that  is  to 
say,  a  member  of  the  Jewish  aristocracy,  or  priesthood 
of  the  Temple, — and  that  marriage  between  "a  Cohen" 
and  a  divorced  woman  is  forbidden  by  the  sacred  Jewish 


"THE    CHILDREN    OF    THE    GHETTO"    453 

Law:  "Neither  shall  they  take  a  woman  put  away 
from  her  husband,  for  he  is  holy  unto  his  God."  After 
that  the  strife  in  the  young  woman's  heart  began.  No 
situation  could  be  more  cruel;  none  could  seem  more 
ridiculous.  Her  resolution  to  elope  with  her  willing  and 
eager  lover, — who  had  no  scruples  whatever, — was  soon 
taken;  her  preparations  were  made;  but,  at  the  last 
moment,  her  filial  affection  and  her  sense  of  religious 
duty  prevailed  over  her  impulses  of  passion  and  of  selfish 
purpose,  and  she  renounced  her  lover  and  remained  with 
her  parents. 

In  Southern  climes  it  oftens  happens  that  a  tree  is 
so  thickly  draped  with  pendant  moss  that  it  cannot  be 
distinctly  seen.  The  dramatic  skeleton  or  framework 
of  Mr.  Zangwill's  play  was  found  to  be  almost  com- 
pletely hidden  by  the  mosses  of  Judaism.  Those  trap- 
pings might,  or  might  not,  be  interesting,  according 
to  an  observer's  taste  or  mood.  Divested  of  racial 
embroidery,  the  posture  of  circumstances  displayed  by 
the  drama  was  not,  in  any  particular,  either  dramatic 
or  impressive.  The  only  point  of  variance  from  trite 
conventionality  was  the  girl's  final  decision  to  stay  with 
her  father.  In  actual  life  persons  who  wish  to  get 
married  commonly  take  their  own  headstrong  way, 
regardless  of  any  afflicting  consequences  that  they  are 
likely  to  bring  upon  either  themselves  or  others. 
Rational  conduct  on  the  part  of  an  infatuated  lover, 
whether  male  or  female,  may  well  strike  the  observer 


454  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

into  "amazement  and  admiration."  Mr.  Zangwill's 
heroine  demonstrated  that  claim  to  respect,  but  it  could 
not  have  been  expected  that  such  an  example  of  self- 
abnegation  would  attract  sympathy,  seeing  that  the 
popular  doctrine,  established  and  overwhelming,  is  "All 
for  love,  or  the  world  well  lost."  In  Wills's  beautiful 
drama  "Olivia"  (a  play  which,  notwithstanding  the 
weakness  in  its  last  act,  once  seen  could  never  be  for- 
gotten!) there  is  a  wonderfully  fine  scene  showing  first 
Olivias  pathetic  farewell  to  her  home,  and  then  the  cruel, 
agonizing  climax  of  her  flight  from  her  father's  pro- 
tection. The  highest  invention  in  Mr.  Zangwill's  play 
was  seen  to  be  merely  a  variation  of  that  theme,  ending 
with  a  reversal  of  the  consequent  effect.  There  was 
abundant  faithful  portrayal  of  Jewish  manners  and  cus- 
toms: but  Action,  not  Portraiture,  is  the  soul  of  all 
Drama,  and  "tediousness  the  limbs  and  outward 
flourishes."  Nothing  more  tedious  could  well  be  devised 
than  the  long-drawn  ceremony  of  Jewish  divorce.  It 
was  said  of  the  rhymester  Fitzgerald  that  when  he  cele- 
brated the  Phoenix  he  described  every  feather  on  its 
body.  As  a  playwright  (for  he  is  in  no  sense  a  dramatist) 
Mr.  Zangwill  revealed  himself  as  not  far  astern  of  that 
model.  There  was,  however,  enough  of  singularity  in 
subject,  cleverness  in  dialogue,  pictorial  excellence  in 
scenery,  and  sincerity  in  portions  of  the  acting,  com- 
bined with  the  ever  popular  element  of  mobs,  banners, 


"THE    CHILDREN    OF    THE    GHETTO"    455 

bass-drums,  precocious  children,  and  silly  clowns,  to 
make  the  play  temporarily  tolerable:  but  it  could  not  be 
accepted  as  a  symmetrical  or  charming  work  of  art  or 
as  an  authentic  portrayal  of  sympathetic  human  nature. 
There  was  a  delicate  love  scene  in  Act  Second,  and  there 
was  a  sweet  and  tender  moment  of  confidence  between 
father  and  daughter  in  Act  Third,  and  that  was  about 
the  sum  of  essential  merit  of  the  composition.  The 
loquacious  bard,  Pinchas,  and  Simon  Wolf,  with  his 
vociferous  gabble  and  his  noisy  mob,  proved  excrescent, 
and  so  did  a  multitude  of  green-grocers,  free-thinkers, 
pipe-smokers,  and  idiotic  carpenters.  There  was  far  too 
much  of  the  ponderous  ecclesiastic,  Reb  Shemuel. 

Miss  Blanche  Bates,  an  actress  of  deep  sensibility,  a 
sweet  and  fine  temperament,  beautiful  personal  appear- 
ance, and  uncommon  capacity  for  dramatic  expression, 
impersonated  the  heroine.  It  was  not  difficult  for  her 
to  represent  a  young  woman  of  noble  mind,  high  spirit, 
ardent  affections,  and  sound  moral  principles.  Those 
phrases  sufficiently  denote  the  character  of  Hannah 
Jacobs, — not  a  dramatic  person,  and  not  required  to 
participate  in  any  exigency  of  strong  action  essentially 
dramatic.  For  her,  and  for  her  lover  and  her  father, 
the  dramatist  had  framed  and  written  one  scene  of 
passionate  conflict, — the  scene  in  which  the  Levitical 
ordinance  against  the  marriage  was  declared,  and  in 
which  the   impetuous   feelings   of   the   betrothed   lovers 


456  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

were  evoked  in  opposition  to  the  pious  will  of  the  Rabbi. 
In  that  scene  the  acting  of  Miss  Bates,  representative  of 
a  fervent  yet  conscientious  spirit  torn  by  varying 
impulses,  was  dignified  and  vitalized  with  splendid 
excitement,  and,  alike  in  utterance  and  demeanor,  was 
indicative  of  unusual  command  of  the  resources  not 
alone  of  feeling  but  of  that  excellent  art  which,  while 
it  holds  passion  in  perfect  restraint,  makes  it  seem  abso- 
lutely spontaneous  and  gives  to  it  the  wings  of  the 
tempest  and  the  reckless  force  of  the  gale.  Frank 
Worthing,  likewise,  as  David  Brandon,  rose  to  a  fine 
height  of  diversified  emotion,  at  this  juncture,  and  he 
expressed  with  nature  and  with  power  the  scorn  and  the 
bitterness  of  an  honest  mind  and  a  good  heart  revolting 
against  injustice  and  indignant  against  cold  formalism 
and  the  flummery  of  antiquated  laws. 

AN    AMERICAN   ECCENTRICITY— W.    H.    CRANE   IN 
"DAVID    HARUM." 

"The  Rough  Diamond,"  in  one  form  or  another,  has 
been  shown  a  thousand  times,  and  in  almost  every 
form  it  is  tiresome.  On  the  occasion  of  the  present- 
ment of  it,  by  the  able  and  accomplished  eccentric 
comedian  William  H.  Crane,  who  brought  it  forth  in 
the  autumn  of  1900,  at  the  Garrick  Theatre,  New 
York,  under  the  name  of  David  Harum,  that  "eternal 
jewel"  took  the  form  of  an  uncouth  bucolic  eccentricity, 
a  bald-headed  rural   banker  with   a  small   wart  on  his 


DAVID    HARUM"  457 

face  and  a  large  heart  in  his   bosom,   whose   pleasure 
it  was,  while  willing  to  be  considered  an  old  curmudgeon, 
to    overreach    and    discomfit    unscrupulous    competitors, 
befriend    merit,    remember    a    past    injury    and    a    past 
kindness,  and  requite  them  both,  and,  in  one  instance, — 
acting  partly  from  native  good  nature  and  partly  from 
a    desire    to    shine    in    his    own    eyes, — to    rescue    the 
oppressed,  and  to  do  good  more  or  less  by  stealth.     This 
paragon   of    subterranean    benevolence    was    manifested 
as  an  inhabitant  of  a  country  town,  over  which  he  pre- 
dominated by  virtue  of  his  ready  money,  his  shrewdness 
in  bargains,  his  inerrant  knowledge  of  every  being  in  the 
neighborhood,   his  aptitude   for  gulling   tricksters  while 
preserving  a  guileless  exterior,  his  jocular  humor,  and 
his  expeditious  enterprise.     It  was  made  known  that  he 
had    emerged    from    the    afflictive    condition    of    an    ill- 
treated  and   wretched   boyhood,    and,    through   toilsome 
industry  and  a  quick  use  of  acute  business  faculties,  had 
obtained    a    competence.      He    was    then    displayed    in 
a    concatenation    of    commonplace    incidents, — incidents 
as  monotonous  and  undramatic  as  the  disconvolution  of 
thread  from  a  spool, — as  contriving  to  advance  the  fort- 
unes of  a  young  man  to  whom  he  had  taken  a  fancy, 
and  as   pouring  affluence  upon  the  indigent   widow  of 
a   deceased  benefactor,   a   person  who  had  treated  him 
kindly   when   a   boy.     Mr.    Crane   embodied  him   with 
much  austere  homeliness  of  aspect,  with  strenuous  "real- 
ism"   of    deportment, — "realism"    being    Mr.     Crane's 


458  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

infirmity  as  a  comedian, — and  with  exuberance  of  effu- 
sive energy. 

The  praiseworthy  conduct  of  David  Harum,  con- 
trasted with  his  pristine  crudeness  and  raw  manners,  was 
the  theme  of  the  play,  and  the  intimation  conveyed  by 
it  was  that  it  is  noble  for  a  rich  man  to  remember  per- 
sons who  were  good  to  him  when  he  was  poor,  and  to 
be  thoughtfully  generous  in  the  bestowal  of  such  bene- 
fits as  can  ensue  from  the  judicious  diffusion  of  his 
wealth.  That  is  not  a  novel  or  momentous  proposition, 
and,  left  to  itself,  it  might  not  cause  amazement.  By 
way  of  enforcing  its  significance,  therefore,  it  was 
assumed  that  this  procedure  must  elicit  a  rapture  of 
sympathy,  if  only  ascribed  to  an  illiterate  countryman 
whose  countenance  is  adorned  with  hatpegs,  who  eats 
with  his  knife,  and  who  is  easily  competent  to  circumvent 
a  sharper  in  trading  for  a  horse.  Such  an  assumption 
was  essential,  but,  unhappily,  ineffective.  In  actual 
life  there  have  been  many  men  who  have  aided  meri- 
torious youth  and  relieved  the  sufferings  of  the  worthy 
poor,  and  this  they  have  done  modestly  and  simply, 
without  eccentricity  or  circumlocution  or  fanfaronade 
of  magnanimity.  The  conduct  of  Edmund  Burke 
toward  young  George  Crabbe,  the  conduct  of  Lord 
Houghton  toward  young  David  Gray,  the  conduct  of 
Samuel  Rogers  in  various  instances,  might  be  cited  as 
typical  of  many  such  courses  of  benevolence,  shown  in 
the  right  spirit  and  the  right  way.     Practical  goodness 


"DAVID    HARUM"  459 

of  this  kind,  in  fact,  has  been,  and  is,  more  common 
than  a  proper  appreciation  of  it.  Being  common,  it 
is  not  striking,  and  neither  does  it  become  striking 
through  being  associated  with  eccentric  characteristics 
in  the  person  of  its  exponent.  As  a  subsidiary  and 
incidental  character,  in  a  genuine  play, — by  which  is 
meant  a  fabric  of  action,  incident,  and  dialogue  that 
tells  a  coherent  and  effective  story  in  a  dramatic  man- 
ner,— the  grotesque  individuality  of  David  Harum, 
redeemed  by  innate  kindness  and  gayly  apparelled  with 
the  outward  flourishes  of  humor,  might  be  made  to 
supply  an  element  of  agreeable  fun.  As  the  central 
figure  in  a  drama  he  is  preposterous,  because  he  is  out 
of  all  proportion — a  pygmy  set  upon  a  monument,  and 
made  absurd  by  inappropriate  prominence. 

In  the  fable  associated  with  David  Harum,  there  was 
no  story.  A  youth  and  a  maid  who  love  each  other 
were  accidentally  and  temporarily  parted,  and,  in  the 
course  of  their  absence  from  each  other,  the  youth 
became  acquainted  with  David  Harum  and  entered  into 
his  service, — thus,  in  time,  becoming  aware  of  some  of 
his  affairs  and  many  of  his  peculiarities.  After  a  period 
of  rural  observation  and  trial  the  youth  and  the  maid 
were  restored  to  each  other  and  consigned  to  matri- 
monial bliss.  The  interlude  was  all.  A  few  quizzi- 
cal touches  in  the  narrative  and  a  few  whimsical  traits 
in  the  central  character,  combined  with  a  gentle  vein 
of  waggery  in  the  style  and  with   involuntary  intima- 


460  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

tions  of  amiable  temperament  and  playful  disposition 
on  the  part  of  the  writer,  made  up  the  sum  of  merit 
in  the  book  on  which  the  play  was  founded.  Nothing 
could  stand  at  a  further  remove  from  even  the  sem- 
blance of  drama.  The  novel  of  "David  Harum"  does 
not  contain  a  play,  and,  accordingly,  it  was  not  possible 
that  a  play  should  be  derived  out  of  it.  But  it  con- 
tains a  character,  and  that  character — which  is  not 
exceptional,— attracted  much  public  attention.  The 
whole  of  Western  New  York,  indeed,  seemed  to  be 
populous  with  claimants  for  the  honor  of  having  been 
the  original  of  the  portrait.  The  adapters  of  the  novel, 
Messrs.  R.  and  M.  W.  Hitchcock,  made  a  sort  of 
diegesis  of  it.  The  course  of  the  movement  was  slightly 
changed.  John  Lennox  became  Harwm's  clerk.  Mary 
Blake  became  a  school  teacher  in  Harum's  town.  The 
lovers  were  kept  asunder  by  poverty.  Harum  mystified 
them  for  a  time  by  pretending  to  be  a  niggardly  brute 
(the  pretence  being  flimsy  and  transparent),  but  finally 
he  delighted  them  by  revealing  himself  as  a  benevolent 
man.  Other  persons  meandered  in  and  trickled  out;  a 
rill  of  domestic  sentiment,  in  the  dialogue,  was  kept- 
flowing  over  a  mush  of  commonplace  occurrences  in  the 
action;  and  the  "Americanism"  of  the  concoction  was 
duly  certified  by  ejaculations  of  "darn,"  "by  thunder," 
"dum,"  and  "tu  hum,"  together  with  all  the  rest  of 
the  excruciating  syntax  never  encountered  anywhere 
except  in  the  "American"  drama. 


From  a  Photograph  by  Byron. 


In  the  Collection  of  the  Author. 


\\  [LLIAM    II.    CRANE 

as 
David  Harum,  in   "David   Harum." 


"DAVID    HARUM"  461 

In  a  book, — since  the  reader  can  lay  it  down  when 
tired  of  it, — a  little  of  David  Harum  might  be  endured. 
In  actual  life  men  of  the  David  Harum  class,  while 
now  and  then  amusing,  are,  for  the  most  part,  insuffer- 
able. Their  eccentricity  may,  occasionally,  be  laugh- 
able,— but  their  uncouth  manners  are  tedious,  their  con- 
ceit, always  colossal,  is  repulsive,  and  their  boorish  self- 
assertion  is  a  continual  annoyance.  They  are  blatantly 
egotistical;  their  talk  is  always  about  themselves;  they 
admire  nothing  so  much  as  "smartness"  and  "cute- 
ness";  and  they  make  life  commonplace  for  all  around 
them  by  their  everlasting  monotonous  application,  to  all 
things  and  all  persons,  of  the  puny  standards  of  their 
jocose  humor  and  their  sordid,  grinding,  pettifogging 
business  method.  That  old  cynic  Henry  Clapp,  Jr. 
(a  man  who,  with  all  his  faults,  was  a  hundred  times 
more  able  and  interesting  than  many  men  who  have 
scorned  and  disparaged  him  since  he  died),  aptly  indi- 
cated the  character  of  the  David  Harum  breed  in  his 
designation  of  Horace  Greeley  as  "a  Self-Made  Man 
who   Avorships  his   Creator." 

Mr.  Crane  has  an  exceptionally  strong  personality, 
manifesting  itself  in  marked  individual  traits.  He  moves 
with  great  rapidity;  he  is  liberal  with  "mugging,"  pro- 
fuse with  gesticulation,  and  abundantly  and  continu- 
ously vociferous,  and  he  labors  for  "effects"  until 
industry  becomes  exhausted  and  observant  solicitude 
is  weary.     He  exudes  strenuous  geniality,  and,   in  his 


462  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

graphic  development  of  character,  he  gives, — like  Wash- 
ington Irving's  "stout  gentleman,"  in  the  story, — con- 
spicuous prominence  to  the  end  which  last  goes  over 
the  wall.  Many  a  time  have  those  attributes  been 
exhibited.  They  were  all  visible  in  his  impersonation 
of  David  Ilarum.  He  took  great  pains  with  the  "make- 
up," in  order  to  present  a  facsimile  of  the  novelist's 
description  of  Ilarum,  and  therein  he  showed  his  ten- 
dency to  lay  the  greater  emphasis  on  the  body  rather 
than  the  spirit.  In  a  photographic  point  of  view  the 
result  was  excellent, — the  eccentricities  of  the  person 
being  made  indicative  of  those  of  the  mind.  It  was  a 
round,  coherent,  truthful,  amusing  personation;  a  fine 
study  of  a  coarse  subject.  It  was  not  comparable,  how- 
ever, with  Mr.  Crane's  noble  performance,  given  in 
1896,  of  old  Cunningham,  in  "Fortune's  Fool."  In  that 
embodiment  Mr.  Crane  was  not  only  the  humorist,  but 
the  comedian;  in  that  he  interpreted  a  representative 
experience,  touched  the  heart,  asserted  the  authority  of 
intellect,  and  manifested  the  imagination  to  conceive  and 
the  power  to  fill  an  ideal  of  sympathetic  humanity. 
In  "David  Harum"  he  was  a  comic  old  churl,  out- 
wardly harsh,  inwardly  amiable,  "coming  out  strong" 
for  Number  One,  and  making  the  most  that  can  be 
made  of  brusque  eccentricity  and  humorous  sapience. 
He  succeeded, — but  it  was  only  in  adding  one  more 
eccentric  figure  to  a  group  that  was  already  sufficiently 
large. 


"IRIS"  463 

"IRIS."— "THE   GREAT   REALITIES   OF    MODERN    LIFE." 

In  1896,  according  to  the  eminent  dramatist  Henry 
Arthur  Jones,  a  "Movement"  which  had  then  been  for 
some  time  in  progress  "to  treat  the  Great  Realities  of 
Modern  Life  upon  the  Stage"  was  "scotched," 
"gagged,"  or  otherwise  obstructed,  needing  some  of 
those  remedial  aids  that  are  pertinently  suggested  by 
Macbeth;  but  it  was  not  absolutely  stopped.  Various 
resolute  dramatists,  according  to  the  testimony  of  that 
diligent  laborer  in  the  vineyard  of  moral  suasion,  had 
been  "sweating"  in  its  service,  and  he  declared  that  they 
would  continue  to  "sweat," — in  the  sanguine,  not  to 
say  humid,  belief  that,  sooner  or  later,  through  a 
liberal  expenditure  of  perspiration  it  would  again  get 
started.  That  belief  was  eventually  justified, — mainly 
through  the  fervid  industry  of  Arthur  Wing  Pinero, 
the  chief  sweater  of  the  whole  devoted  band.  Pinero's 
"The  Second  Mrs.  Tanqueray"  had  reanimated  the 
"Movement,"  in  1893,  and  a  fresh  impetus  was  given 
to  it  by  his  particularly  rancid  play  of  "Iris,"  which 
was  first  presented  on  the  American  Stage,  at  the 
Criterion  Theatre,  New  York,  on  September  23,  1901, 
by  that  fervid  friend  of  sweat  and  morality,  Mr. 
Charles    Frohman. 

The  "Great  Realities  of  Modern  Life,"  it  appears, 
are  courtesans  and  blackguards,  sexual  passions  and 
sexual  crimes,  infidelities  both  in  the  state  of  marriage 


464  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

and  out  of  it,  and  a  general  stew  of  bestiality  and  cor- 
ruption. Those  "great  realities"  extend  through  all 
classes  of  society,  dominate  all  worldly  affairs,  and 
overshadow  and  control  everything.  There  is  no  good- 
ness in  human  nature;  there  is  no  honesty  in  human 
life;  there  is  no  virtue  in  woman;  there  is  no  honor  in 
man.  "All  places  that  the  eye  of  Heaven  visits"  reek 
with  iniquity.  Hereditary  disease  has  afflicted  every- 
body, and  the  human  race  is  merely  "a  pestilent  con- 
gregation" of  moral  lepers.  These  being  the  facts,  it 
is  the  province  of  the  "Movement,"  by  means  of  the 
acted  drama,  to  edify  this  race  of  vipers  with  an  ever- 
lasting panoramic  photograph  of  human  depravity  and 
filth — "to  hold  as  'twere  the  mirror  up  to  Nature"; 
with  the  understanding  that  "Nature"  is  a  cesspool, 
and  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  so  "virile,"  so 
"true,"  so  ecstatically  delightful,  and  so  fraught  with 
exemplary  precept  for  its  inhabitants  as  a  literal  repro- 
duction of  that  typical  emblem.  Thus  loom  the  Great 
Realities  and  thus  shows  the  Movement,  refracted 
through  the  mist  of  many  dramas. 

In  "Iris"  the  "great  realities  of  our  modern  life" 
are  a  demirep,  an  ass,  and  a  blackguard — his  Bellamy, 
Lawrence  Trentwith,  and  Frederick  Maldonaldo.  Iris 
Bellamy  is  a  young  widow,  who,  from  her  deceased 
husband,  has  inherited  an  ample  fortune,  which  she  can 
hold  only  as  long  as  she  remains  single,  and  with  which 
she  cannot,  under  any  circumstances,   persuade  herself 


"IRIS"  465 

to  part.  Trentwith  is  impecunious,  but  Maldonaldo  is 
rich.  Both  those  men  "love"  Iris,  and  both  propose 
marriage  to  her.  Her  love  responds  to  Trentwith,  but 
her  avarice  prefers  Maldonaldo;  it  is  a  case  of  Cupidity 
against  Cupid.  In  this  dilemma  she  first  accepts 
Maldonaldo;  then  rejects  him:  and  finally  compromises 
by  becoming  Trentwith' s  paramour,  pending  the  happy 
day  when  he  shall  have  made  a  fortune  in  America, 
and  she  can  be  married  to  him  without  incurring  the 
dreaded  blight  of  poverty.  That  blight,  however,  sud- 
denly comes  upon  her,  through  the  dishonesty  of  her 
business  agent,  and  she  is  left  with  barely  a  pittance: 
yet,  even  so,  she  declines  to  marry  Trentwith,  and  this 
donkey  departs  from  her,  to  seek  for  wealth.  Then, 
of  course,  the  opulent  Maldonaldo  appears,  with  plenty 
of  money,  and  Iris  becomes  his  mistress.  In  due  time 
Trentwith  returns,  to  find  his  former  paramour  in  her 
sin  and  shame  with  another  man,  to  express  his  amaze- 
ment at  this  astounding  posture  of  affairs,  and,  not- 
withstanding her  fervid  assurances  of  devoted  fidelity, 
to  repudiate  and  repel  her.  At  last  Maldonaldo  dis- 
covers the  state  of  her  affections,  and  that  he  has 
been  only  playing  second  fiddle,  and  in  a  frenzy  of 
jealous  rage, — deporting  himself  like  the  brutal  and 
loathsome  ruffian  that  he  is, — he  kicks  her  into  the  street 
and  then  smashes  her  furniture.  That,  in  substance, 
is  the  play;  a  play  in  which  there  is  not  a  single  char- 
acter worthy  of  respect;  a  play  in  which  persons  talk 


4GG  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

and  act  as  if  there  were  no  such  thing  as  moral  principle 
or  physical  purity,  and  as  if  they  were  living  in  a 
society  bereft  alike  of  virtue,  decency,  and  common 
sense.  Worse  compounds  of  libertinism  and  carnality 
have,  unhappily,  more  than  once  been  seen  on  the 
stage;  but  no  compound  of  those  ingredients  quite  as 
pretentious  in  form,  or  quite  as  specious  in  its  preten- 
sion, had  been  exhibited:  for  Iris,  with  her  beauty,  her 
impulse,  her  passion,  her  vacuity  of  principle,  her  flabby 
character,  and  all  the  rest  of  her  baleful  freight  of  weak- 
ness and  sin,  is  the  crystallization  of  those  multitudinous 
beings  who  make  most  of  the  trouble  in  the  wTorld,  the 
great  company  of  erotic  and  vicious  Fools. 

It  is  always  said,  in  extenuation  of  the  offence  of 
dramas  of  this  kind,  that  they  teach  "a  lesson."  Perhaps 
they  do.  But  it  is  invariably  a  trite  and  trivial  "lesson" 
and  completely  superfluous.  Fire  will  burn.  Be  virtu- 
ous and  you  will  be  happy.  Twice  two  is  four.  That  is 
the  substance  of  the  "lesson."  "In  the  name  of  the 
Prophet — Figs!"  Dramas  of  the  "Iris"  order  are  not 
presented  because  of  any  moral  impulse  or  with  any 
ethical  purpose.  Amateur  critics  of  life  and  of  the 
Stage  are  always  tremendously  moved  by  them,  declar- 
ing them  to  be  "strong."  So,  in  a  certain  sense,  they 
are;  but  so  is  an  onion  or  a  polecat.  The  true  motive 
of  all  such  plays  is  sordid,  shopkeeping  craft,  and  the 
actual  influence  of  all  of  them  is  the  sophistication  of 
reason,  the  defilement  of  morality,  and  the  perversion 


"IRIS"  467 

of  taste.  They  operate  upon  the  mind  very  much  as 
bad  water  operates  upon  the  body:  in  both  cases  the 
result  is  disease. 

The  publicist  who  takes  this  view  of  this  subject  is, 
of  course,  stigmatized  as  the  Victim  of  Moral  Hysterics. 
That  is  a  part  of  the  game,  and  a  necessary  part  of  it. 
The  hysterics,  however,  are  really  all  on  the  other 
side.  To  any  man  who  knows  the  world  the  play  of 
"Iris"  is  not  only  dirty  but  dull.  Nothing  in  it  rises 
above  the  level  of  a  Jardin  Mabille  intrigue  or  a  bar- 
room row.  Its  portrayal  of  vice  is  not  even  moderately 
novel.  There  is  no  genius, — there  is  not  even  audacity, 
— in  the  making  of  a  group  of  scamps  and  fools  around 
a  weak,  senseless,  perverse,  misguided,  ill-regulated, 
no-principled  woman.  The  thing  is  commonplace  and 
tedious.  The  depiction  of  a  Cyprian  in  her  amatory 
trouble  wearies  a  sane  judgment  even  more  than  it 
offends.  There  is  not,  and  there  never  has  been,  on 
the  part  of  any  judicious  critic  of  life,  any  objection 
to  the  presentment  of  a  dissolute  man  or  an  unchaste 
woman,  in  due  perspective,  in  a  drama.  All  depends 
upon  the  way  in  which  the  personality  is  presented 
and  the  use  that  is  made  of  it. 

Pinero's  types  of  "love"  are  cheap  and  tawdry,  and 
when  you  have  passed  an  evening  with  them  you 
long  for  a  shower  bath  and  a  disinfectant.  That  clever 
playwright,  indeed,  has  grafted  his  scenes  together  in 
a  skilful  manner,  so  as  to  bring  down  each  curtain  on 


468  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

a  telling  incident,  and  he  has  garnished  them  with 
terse,  cynical,  ironical  dialogues,  and  closed  his  drama 
at  a  sharp  climax.  But  his  professional  dexterity  is 
not  Remarkable:  Pinero  was  once  an  actor,  and  he 
has  thoroughly  learned  his  art:  the  stage  owes  fine 
things  to  him,  and  society  has  recognized  and  rewarded 
them.  His  art,  however,  is  not  in  the  least  marvellous. 
He  is  far  from  being  a  deep  thinker:  he  is  not  com- 
parable, as  a  dramatist,  with  either  Gilbert  or  Merivale, 
for  imagination,  passion,  pathos,  or  humor;  and  if  his 
play  of  "Iris"  is,  in  any  sense,  shocking  to  the  moralist 
of  experienced  mind,  it  only  is  so  because  it  shows  how 
sadly  an  able  man  can  misuse  his  talents,  under  the  mis- 
taken notion  that  he  is  showing  intellectual  power  and 
emancipating  the  Stage  from  the  fetters  of  convention, 
when  he  disdains  the  restraints  of  artistic  propriety  and 
defies  the  laws  of  taste, — laws  which  prescribe  not 
squeamishness,  not  timidity,  not  hypocrisy,  not 
cowardice,  but  dignity,  refinement,  and  decent  reticence, 
in  treating  the  baser  passions  of  mankind.  Persons 
who  think  that  the  private  life  and  painful  experience 
of  a  demirep  (for  that  is  the  true  name  for  it,  putting 
all  sophistry  aside)  constitute  a  fit  subject  to  be  set 
forth  in  a  work  of  art,  and  considered  and  canvassed  by 
a  theatrical  audience,  will  accept  and  commend  such 
plays  as  "Iris."  On  the  other  hand,  there  are  extant 
believers  in  something  better,  persons  who  think  that 
the  province  of  art  is  the  ministration  of  beauty;  that 


"IRIS"  469 

the  first  principle  of  art  is  selection;  that  "Nature"  is 
not  synonymous  with  garbage;  and  that  the  need  of 
society,  at  every  turn,  is  a  prospect  of  loveliness  that 
cheers,  of  happiness  that  delights,  of  goodness  that 
encourages,  of  sweetness  that  refines,  and  of  the  nobility 
to  be  emulated  rather  than  the  depravity  to  be  shunned. 
By  those  believers, — "poor  remains  of  friends," — such 
plays  are  and  always  will  be  condemned.  "Iris"  was 
a  discredit  to  its  able  author,  a  disgrace  to  good  litera- 
ture, and  a  blight  on  the  stage. 

For  histrionic  purposes  Iris  is  a  good  part, — being 
that  of  an  ardent,  impetuous,  nervous,  capricious,  volatile 
woman,  living  exclusively  in  the  senses,  and  continually 
wildly  driven  to  and  fro  by  conflicting  impulses  and 
emotions.  In  the  scenes  adroitly  provided  for  her  dis- 
play there  is  abundant  opportunity  for  her  to  vibrate 
between  antagonistic  feelings;  to  vacillate  between  rival 
lovers;  to  tremble  in  convulsions  of  passion;  and  to  dis- 
solve in  floods  of  woe.  The  part  was  played  by  Miss 
Virginia  Harned,  an  actress  of  conventional  method  and, 
apparently,  of  somewhat  splenetic  temperament,  who 
made  a  measurably  effective  use  of  her  opportunity, 
displaying  the  personality  without  impressing  it;  mak- 
ing it  known  without  making  it  felt.  That  result  often 
ensues  when  the  emotion  of  a  part  exceeds  that  of  a 
player.  Iris  is  all  tremor;  never  intellectual,  never 
rational,  never  sensible;  a  woman  who  hovers  between 


470  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

sentiment  and  hysteria;  framed  to  bring  trouble  on  her- 
self and  everybody  else.  Aeted  at  the  best,  she  might 
be  pitiable.  Miss  Harned  made  her  moderately 
interesting. 

There  was  nothing  remarkable  in  the  acting  of  Mr. 
Oscar  Ashe,  an  English  actor,  who  appeared  as  Mal- 
donaldo.  The  part  presents  no  difficulties,  being  merely 
that  of  a  sensual  brute,  whose  aspect  and  manners  are 
thinly  veneered  with  superficial  polish,  and  who  lives  for 
pleasure.  This  animal  is  frequently  encountered  in 
actual  life,  and  he  has  long  been  a  familiar  figure  on 
the  stage.  The  ill  employment  upon  which  the  dram- 
atist has  set  him  in  the  play  of  "Iris"  is  the  seduction 
of  a  weak,  frivolous,  unprincipled,  helpless  woman,  a 
crime  congenial  with  his  propensities  and  readily  per- 
petrated. The  actor  has  to  be  burly,  jocund,  aggres- 
sive, crafty,  sensual,  common,  mean,  and  furious.  His 
course  is  straight,  and  it  ends  in  a  vulgar,  noisy  explo- 
sion. Anybody  can  play  Maldonaldo  who  can  play 
anything.  Mr.  Ashe  played  it  well,  especially  in  the 
moments  of  lewdness,  arrogant  self-complacency  and 
craft,  and  in  the  crash  of  the  final  catastrophe.  Stress 
was  laid  upon  the  momentous  fact  that-  the  actor 
had  been  specially  "imported"  for  this  achievement.  It 
seems  a  pity  that  a  respectable  gentleman  should  be  con- 
strained to  make  himself  publicly  odious,  and  it  was 
hoped  that  Mr.  Ashe, — who  thoroughly  fulfilled  his 
professional  duty  as  Maldonaldo, — would  have  occasion 


From  a  Photograph  by  Byron. 

VIRGINIA    HAltNED 
as 
Iris  B<  l  hi  mil. 


In   tin    Colh  ction  0/    -        AuUior. 

OSCAE    ASHE 

as 
Fn  '/<  rick  Miiiiimitildo, 


in  "Iris." 


"THE    THIEF"  471 

to  manifest  his  talents  in  something  above  the  level  of 
a  swine.  That,  as  yet  (1912),  he  has  not  done;  at  least, 
not  in  America. 


"THE    THIEF 


M 


Henri  Bernstein's  comedy  called  "The  Thief,"  adapted 
in  English  by  Haddon  Chambers,  was  produced  at 
the  Lyceum  Theatre,  New  York,  on  September  9, 
1908.  It  is  a  work  of  rare  merit  and  remarkable 
significance,  and  the  performance  of  it  was  exceptionally 
good.  The  title  of  it  is  not  appropriate,  for  the  reason 
that  it  does  not  indicate  the  subject.  That  subject, — 
one  of  supreme  importance  to  society, — is  the  love 
existent  between  married  persons;  the  persons,  that  is 
to  say,  by  whom  society  mainly  is  constituted  and  sus- 
tained. That  love,  the  love  existent  in  the  marital 
relation,  a  common  topic  of  satirical  and  sometimes 
ribald  levity,  is  the  basis  on  which  the  entire  social 
fabric  rests;  yet  nothing  is,  customarily,  so  foolishly,  so 
deplorably  treated  by  the  mass  of  persons  who  should 
reverence  and  guard  it.  The  man  or  woman  who  pos- 
sesses affection, — however  little,  so  that  it  be  real, — pos- 
sesses the  greatest  blessing  that  life  can  receive;  yet,  in 
general,  nothing  is  so  little  valued.  Every  day,  almost 
every  hour,  men  and  women  alienate  it  by  abuse  or 
barter  it  from  motives  of  vanity.  A  cynical  writer 
long  ago.  remarked  that  in  every  case  of  love  there  is  one 
person  who  loves  and  another  who  submits  to  be  loved. 


472  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

That,  unhappily,  is,  almost  always,  true.  Often  it  hap- 
pens that  the  moment  a  woman  becomes  sure  that  a  man 
loves  her  (and  Nature  has  provided  her  with  an  unerr- 
ing instinct  by  which  she  inevitably  knows)  she  begins 
to  become  indifferent  to  him.  Often  it  happens  that 
the  moment  a  man  knows  that  he  is  loved  by  a  woman 
(and,  commonly,  he  is  slow  in  absorbing  that  knowl- 
edge) he  feels  that  the  situation  is  exactly  what  it 
ought  to  be  and  that  her  homage  is  well  bestowed,  and 
he  gazes  around  for  other  votaries.  That  is  not  the 
invariable  occurrence,  but  that  is  the  custom, — the  rea- 
son being  that,  in  both  sexes,  vanity  is  generally  the 
strongest  of  all   the  passions   of  human   nature. 

In  the  comedy  of  "The  Thief"  the  wife's  love  for 
the  husband  is  idolatrous,  and  in  her  forlorn,  piti- 
able, wretched  dread  that  she  will  lose  his  love, — 
which  indeed  seems  more  condescending  than  passion- 
ate,— she  becomes  actually  a  monomaniac,  and  she  steals 
money  with  which  to  pay  for  pretty  raiment  intended 
to  make  herself  more  attractive  in  his  eyes.  The 
theory  of  passionate  devotion  is  pushed  to  its  fullest 
extent,  but  those  observers  who  think  that  such  love 
is  impossible  know  but  little  about  mankind.  It  is 
not  only  possible,  it  is  of  frequent  occurrence,  and 
the  social  philosopher  is  unwise  who  does  not  include 
it  in  his  philosophy.  Much  is  suggested  by  the  play 
of  "The  Thief," — to  persons,  that  is,  who  possess 
receptive    minds.      The    elaboration    of    the    plot, — the 


"THE    THIEF"  473 

process  of  unravelment  by  which  the  culprit  is  dis- 
covered,— is  not  so  important  as  is  its  meaning.  The 
acute  analyst  can  perceive,  in  a  moment,  the  secret 
of  the  fable.  The  development  of  the  plot,  indeed,  is 
remarkably  adroit,  creating  anxious  suspense  and  main- 
taining unbroken  interest;  but  the  substance  of  the 
play  is  its  disclosure  of  the  human  heart, — the  access 
of  suffering,  the  conflict  of  passions,  the  revelation  of 
elemental  nature.  The  play  does  not  preach:  it  only 
reflects,  as  in  a  mirror,  the  truth  of  what  we  are  and 
what  we  feel.  There  are,  in  the  mechanism,  technical 
defects.  The  heroine  is  represented  as,  radically,  virt- 
uous, and  it  is  not  probable  that  a  good  woman 
who  idolizes  her  husband  would,  out  of  either  tolerant 
amiability  or  the  vain  liking  for  admiration,  temporize, 
as  Mrs.  Voysin  is  made  to  do,  with  the  infatuated  youth 
who  besets  her  with  his  attentions.  It  is  certain  that 
the  husband  would  be  more  prompt  than  Mr.  Voysin 
is  made  to  be  in  arriving  at  knowledge  of  the  truth 
that  his  wife  had  tolerated  those  attentions.  The  eyes 
of  love  are  sharp,  and  even  the  male  animal  has  intui- 
tions: besides,  particular  care  has  been  taken  by  the 
dramatist  to  intimate  that  Mr.  Voysin  has  had  con- 
siderable and  instructive  experience  of  woman  and  her 
ways.  Those  postulates  of  circumstance,  however,  are 
essential  to  the  fabric  of  the  story,  and  certainly,  in  the 
stormy,  afflicting  scene  of  the  wife's  confession  to  her 
husband,    when,    little    by    little,    the    prospect    of   her 


474  THE   .WALLET    OF    TIME 

enforced  and  miserable  scheme  of  deceit  has  dawned 
upon  him,  the  sudden  irruption  of  jealous  rage,  as  a 
controlling  motive,  is  exceedingly  felicitous  and  effective. 
Two  or  three  allusions  in  the  text  (in  particular 
young  Lagardes's  reference  to  the  chorus  girl)  should 
have  been  expunged.  They  pass  comparatively 
unnoticed,  yet  the  play  would  be  better  without  them. 
The  ultimate  impairment  of  it  remains  unchanged, — an 
impairment  as  to  the  sanctity  of  affection.  Love,  like 
opportunity,  is  an  angel  that  comes  but  once,  and  when 
it  comes  it  ought  to  be  prized  and  cherished  above  every- 
thing else.  Not  all  the  riches  of  the  world  can  buy  it; 
or  keep  it,  and  when  once  it  has  gone  it  never  will 
return.  Most  of  the  domestic  tragedies  with  which 
society  abounds  ensue  from  woman's  vanity  and  man's 
complacent  conceit, — the  love  of  admiration  on  the  one 
hand  and  the  pride  of  conquest  on  the  other.  Public 
life  is  populous  with  individuals, — authors,  actors, 
preachers,  statesmen,  and  the  like, — who  have  sacrificed 
all  that  is  really  precious  in  human  life  for  the  mere 
mockery  of  affection,  and  often  for  the  applause  of 
proletarians,  newspaper  puffery,  and  the  vapor  called 
fame.  "Oh,  what  a  fool  I  have  been,"  said  Charles 
Churchill,  Byron's  "meteor  of  a  season,"  when  on  his 
deathbed.  There  are  thousands  of  persons  in  a  posi- 
tion to  say  the  same  despairing  words,  at  the  same 
awful  crisis,  when  memory  looks  backward  as  the  cur- 
tain is  about  to  fall. 


"THE    THIEF"  475 

This  is  the  story:  Raymonde  Lagardes  and  Richard 
Voysin,  stanch  good  fellows,  were  intimate  friends. 
Raymonde  was  the  elder,  and  he  had  been  twice  mar- 
ried,— his  first  wife  having  died,  leaving  to  him  a  son, 
Fernande.  Raymonde  was  living  with  his  second  wife, 
Isabelle,  and  his  son,  Fernande,  at  a  rural  villa  in 
France,  and  there,  in  wealth  and  luxury,  he  was  enter- 
tainirg,  as  guests,  his  cherished  friend,  Richard  Voysin, 
and  Richard's  newly  married  wife,  Marie  Louise,  persons 
who  were,  comparatively,  poor.  Fernande  Lagardes 
was  a  youth  of  about  nineteen  years,  and  unhappily 
he  had  fallen  in  love  with  Mrs.  Voysin.  A  robbery  of 
considerable  money,  the  property  of  Isabelle,  had 
occurred  in  the  house,  and  Raymonde  had  employed  a 
detective  officer,  M.  Zambault,  who  was  present  as  a 
guest,  bearing  an  assumed  name,  to  find  the  thief. 
After  a  time  M.  Zambault  stated  that  he  had  discovered 
the  culprit  and  was  ready  to  make  his  report.  Ray- 
monde then  explained  the  situation  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Voysin.  The  report  of  the  detective  specified  Fernande 
as  the  thief  and  presented  evidence  apparently  con- 
clusive of  the  truth  of  the  accusation.  The  robbery 
had,  in  fact,  been  committed  by  Mrs.  Voysin,  who  was 
harassed  with  private  debts,  contracted  for  the  purchase 
of  costly  apparel,  and  who,  in  a  moment  of  peril  and 
temptation,  had  thus  degraded  herself.  Mrs.  Voysin 
was  dispatched  to  summon  Fernande,  and  when  the 
youth  came  he  at  once  admitted  the  commission  of  the 


476  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

crime,  made  no  denial  of  any  charge,  and  produced  a 
portion    of    the    stolen    money — Mrs.     Voysin    having 
appealed  to  him  and  given  the  money  into  his  keeping. 
Later  in   the   night,   after  Mr.   and  Mrs.    Voysin  had 
retired    to    their   chamber,    a    colloquy    ensued    between 
them,  in   which  Richard,   perplexed  in   thinking  of   the 
promptitude  of  Fernandes  admission  and  of  the  improb- 
ability  of   his   guilt,   at  last,   accidentally,   stumbled   on 
the  truth,  and  then,  through  a  series  of  incidents  art- 
fully   arranged    and    disposed,    compelled    his    wife    to 
confess  her  guilt  and  explain  her  conduct.     The  next 
day  Raymonde  announced  that  Fernande  would  be  sent 
to   South   America,   there   to   remain   for   several   years 
and  there  to  reinstate  himself  as  an  honest  man.    Mean- 
while Voysin,  aware  that  his  wife  had,  at  least,  tolerated 
certain    silly    amatory    advances    made    by    Fernande, 
and   being  momentarily   maddened   with   suspicion    and 
jealousy,    held   his    peace    for    a    while,    and    subjected 
her  to  the  test  of  witnessing  the  anguish  of  Raymonde, 
in  parting  from  his  innocent  son.     That  test  she  could 
not  endure.     The  truth  was  spoken  by  her,  the  boy  was 
vindicated:  and  then,  in   a   scene   of   striking  contrasts 
and  deep,  natural  emotion,  Voysin  depicted  to  his  old 
friend  Raymonde  the  half  insane  and  wholly  miserable 
delusion  and  the  dreadful  dilemma  of  his  wife,  imply- 
ing  forgiveness   of  her   fault   and   arranging   for   their 
departure  to  another  land  and  their  entrance  upon  a 
life  of  rational  love  and  peace. 


"THE    THIEF"  477 

The  chief  parts  in  "The  Thief"  were  acted  by  Kyrle 
Bellew  and  Margaret  Illington.  Mr.  Bellew  (1845- 
1911),  much  of  whose  acting  had  impressed  observation 
as  shallow  and  vapid,  the  trivial  displa}^  of  a  vain  per- 
son pleased  with  himself  and  prone  to  stand  before  the 
characters  he  had  undertaken  to  embody,  revealed  unex- 
pected power.  There  was,  indeed,  a  tone  of  superfici- 
ality about  his  demeanor  in  those  passages  that  involve 
endearments  and  an  air  of  kindly,  soothing  tolerance; 
but  in  the  scenes  that  are  fraught  with  almost  tragic 
feeling  he  rose  to  a  surprising  height  of  passionate 
sincerity.  Nothing  could  be  better  than  his  impetuous, 
fiery  outburst  of  jealousy  when,  at  last,  the  whole 
truth  of  the  wife's  folly  as  well  as  her  crime  comes  upon 
Voy sin's  mind;  while  his  treatment  of  the  closing  scene, 
in  its  simplicity  and  tender  pathos,  was  as  nearly  perfect 
as  anything  can  be.  His  demeanor  in  the  subjection 
of  the  wife  to  a  final  test  of  her  integrity,  the  cold, 
stern  aspect  while  the  tortured  heart  and  almost  dis- 
tracted mind  within  are  distinctly  shown,  and  then  the 
sweet,  earnest,  lovely  delivery  of  the  explanation  to 
Voysins  old  comrade,  Raymonde,  were  achievements  in 
the  art  of  acting  that  marked  Mr.  Bellew  as  an  artist 
of  subtlety,  skill,  and  eminent  worth. 

Miss  Margaret  Islington's  imrjersonation  of  Mrs. 
Voysin  was  fraught  with  sincerity,  sympathy,  and  force. 
The  actress  showed  that  she  had  formed  a  distinct  ideal, 
and  she  expressed  that  ideal  in  such  a  way  as  to  main- 


478  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

tain  an  illusion.  The  situations  in  which  Mrs.  Voysin 
is  placed  largely  contribute  to  the  creation  of  effect 
upon  the  feelings  of  the  spectator,  but  the  actress  sup- 
plied a  continuity  of  performance  that  enforced  the 
effect.  A  slight  impediment  in  her  speech  constrained 
her  to  an  obvious  effort  of  articulation,  and,  especially 
in  the  denotement  of  passionate  anguish,  it  led  to  some 
contortion  of  the  face.  The  peculiarly  exacting  passages 
in  the  part  of  Mrs.  Voysin  are  those  in  which  the  guilty 
woman,  in  the  midnight  colloquy  with  her  husband, 
strives  to  maintain  an  appearance  of  ease  and  gayety 
and  later  makes  her  confession.  It  is  essential  that  an 
actress  should  indicate, — not  to  her  interlocutor  on  the 
scene,  but  to  her  audience, — that  beneath  her  guise  of 
gayety  she  is  suffering  with  terrible  apprehension  and 
remorse;  and,  in  the  making  of  her  confession  of  theft, 
which  is  bitterly  shameful,  she  ought  not  to  be  glib. 
The  confession  is  torn  from  her  heart,  and  it  should 
struggle  through  her  utterance.  Fluency  of  speech, 
apparent  sequence  of  thought,  ingenuity  of  reasoning 
are  expedients  to  be  avoided.  Sincere  feeling,  in  situa- 
tions of  agony,  does  not  find  facile  utterance.  There 
is  an  instructive  stage  tradition  relative  -  to  Edmund 
Kean,  that  when  he  spoke  the  curse  of  Brutus  upon 
Tar quin  he  seemed  to  rend  it  out  of  his  throat  as  well 
as  out  of  his  heart. 


/  rom  a  "Photograph  in  tin  Collection  of  the  Author. 

KYKI.K    BELLEW 


as 


Richard  i  oysin,  in  "The  Thief." 


"THE    EASIEST    WAY"  479 

"THE     EASIEST    WAY." 

"Truth  is  never  gentle,"  says  one  of  the  speakers 
in  the  drama  called  "The  Easiest  Way,"  by  Mr.  Eugene 
Walter,  which  was  performed  for  the  first  time  in  New 
York  at  the  Stuyvesant  Theatre  (now,  1912,  the 
Belasco),  and  which  was  seen  and  heard  by  a  numerous 
assemblage  that  did  not  appear  to  be  either  edified 
by  its  commonplace  ethical  deliverance  or  shocked  by  the 
blatant  impropriety  of  its  theme.  Aphorisms  relative  to 
truth  are  readily  manufactured,  and  they  have  been 
supplied  with  profuse  liberality  by  the  makers  and  pur- 
veyors of  tainted  theatrical  trash.  The  truth  about  Mr. 
Walter's  play, — a  composition  which,  while  not  par- 
ticularly clever  in  any  respect,  is  both  specious  in  its 
reasoning  and  offensive  in  its  substance  and  has  enjoyed 
a  wide  popularity  and  much  approval, — would  be  any- 
thing but  gentle,  if  fully  expressed.  Respect  for  good 
taste,  however,  enjoins  a  decent  reserve  in  discussion  of 
sexual  immorality.  The  story  of  the  play  is  the  story 
of  episodes  in  the  life  of  a  courtesan.  The  position 
assumed,  by  implication,  if  not  openly,  by  Mr.  Walter, 
a  professional  dramatist,  and,  apparently,  ratified  by 
Mr.  Belasco,  also  a  professional  dramatist  and,  still 
further,  a  theatrical  manager  of  great  experience  and 
influence,  declares  that  "the  easiest  way"  in  which  a 
woman  can  obtain  and  hold  a  position  on  the  stage 
and  live  in  luxury  off  it  is  the  way  which  lies  through 


480  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

the  sacrifice  of  her  chastity.  And  that  impartment 
is  tagged  with  the  "moral  lesson," — so  wonderfully 
fresh  and  striking! — that  "the  easiest  way"  will,  at 
last,  prove  to  be  the  hardest  way,  ending  in  misery, 
a  wasted  life,  and  a  broken  heart.  That  is  the  ethical 
meaning  of  the  play,  if  it  possesses  any  ethical  meaning, 
and  therefore  it  is  a  play  which  could  have  no  other 
effect  than  to  confirm  in  many  minds,  because  of  the 
managerial  source  from  which  it  comes,  an  impression 
that  the  Theatre  is  an  immoral  institution. 

Persons  who  obtain  their  subsistence  by  means  of  the 
Theatre  might  be  better  employed  than  in  defaming 
the  means  whereby  they  live.  To  declare,  as  incidentally 
is  done,  that  the  female  members  of  the  dramatic  pro- 
fession who  may  happen  to  be  pursued,  with  evil  pur- 
pose, by  wealthy,  licentious  men  should  repel  such 
blackguards  is  only  to  declare  a  platitude.  To  say 
that  young  women  should  be  virtuous  and  should  live 
decently  is  only  to  state  a  truism  with  which  all  young 
women  are  familiar.  The  assurance  that  youth  in 
poverty, — particularly  female  youth, — is  youth  environed 
by  trying  circumstances  can  scarcely  be  deemed  a 
novel  contribution  to  contemporaneous  -  knowledge. 
There  was  no  need  of  either  a  drama  bv  Mr.  Walter 
or  a  sermon  by  Mr.  Belasco  to  inculcate  those  truths. 
The  persons,  whether  off  the  stage  or  connected  with 
it,  who  live  licentious  lives  do  so  because,  as  a  rule,  they 
prefer  to  do  so;  not  because  of  those  illuminations  in 


"THE    EASIEST    WAY"  481 

"the  Great  White  Way"  by  which  Mr.  Belasco  an- 
nounced himself,  in  print,  to  have  been  so  deeply  dis- 
tressed. 

The  tale  that  Mr.  Walter  told,  in  "The  Easiest  Way," 
the  tale  that  Mr.  Belasco  felt  constrained  to  promul- 
gate as  a  warning  to  Mothers  who  love  their  daughters 
and  to  "young  Girls  and  young  Boys  who  go  out 
into  the  world  and  meet  its  dangers,"  can,  perhaps, 
be  summarized  in  inoffensive  words.  The  necessity  of 
telling  it  supervenes  upon  the  expression  of  a  critical 
opinion  relative  to  the  drift,  significance,  and  value  of 
the  play  in  which  it  is  comprised.  The  principal  person 
who  figures  in  it,  Laura  Murdoch  by  name,  aged  twenty- 
five,  is  a  dangler  on  the  fringes  of  the  Stage,  and  she  is 
a  courtesan.  It  is  intimated  that,  early  in  life,  she  has 
entered  a  vocation  described  as  "the  show  business"; — 
also  that  while  yet  in  girlhood  she  has  "gone  wrong"; 
subsequently  got  married;  presently  become  a  widow, 
because  of  the  suicide  of  her  husband;  then  reverted  to 
"the  show  business";  and  then  become  the  mistress  of  a 
wealthy  New  York  libertine,  by  name  Willard  Brockton. 
After  two  years  of  service  to  Brockton,  in  that  capacity, 
she  goes  to  Colorado,  where,  among  the  mountains  near 
to  Denver,  she  meets  another  profligate  person,  John 
Madison  by  name,  of  whom  she  becomes  enamoured, 
and  who  becomes  enamoured  of  her.  Laura  Murdoch 
and  John  Madison  explain  their  feelings  to  each  other, 
making  no  concealment  of  the  fact  that  they  have  been 


482  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

living  vicious  lives.  The  young  woman's  "summer 
season"  in  a  Denver  "stock  company"  (for  the  "show 
business"  environment  continues)  has  ended,  and  the 
gay  Brockton  arrives  in  Colorado,  to  escort  his  para- 
mour back  to  New  York.  He  mentions  that  he  has 
hired  a  house  in  Riverside  Drive,  in  which  they  are 
to  dwell,  and  that  he  purposes  to  form  a  theatrical 
company  in  which,  if  she  continues  to  consort  with  him, 
she  will  occupy  the  first  place.  This  is  a  crisis,  but 
Miss  Murdoch  feels  that  she  cannot  at  once  part  with 
her  Madison,  and  she  is  constrained  to  apprise  her 
Brockton  of  this  new  attachment — adding,  however,  that 
she  has  not  yet  reached  a  final  decision,  "either  for 
stay  or  going."  Madison  and  Brockton  are  then  con- 
fronted, and  it  is  alleged  that  each  feels  a  sort  of 
brotherly  attraction  for  the  other — a  phenomenal  feel- 
ing, under  the  circumstances,  since  each  has  the  best 
of  all  reasons,  as  humanity  is  constituted,  not  only  for 
dislike  but  hatred.  Madison  and  Miss  Murdoch  are  left 
alone,  to  discuss  their  affairs.  They  agree  to  marry. 
The  Past  shall  be  considered  dead.  The  Future  shall  be 
decent.  A  new  life  shall  open.  For  a  while  they  will 
separate,  in  order  that  Madison,  whose  weekly  stipend, 
as  a  newspaper  reporter,  is  thirty  dollars,  may  accumu- 
late enough  money  to  maintain  his  spouse  in  luxury, 
after  their  marriage.  No  reason  is  shown  why  they 
should  not  marry  at  once  and  remain  together; — only 
it  is  clear,  if  they  had  done  so,  a  nasty  play  would  have 


"THE    EASIEST    WAY"  483 

been  abruptly  terminated.  The  licentious  Brockton, 
being  apprised  of  their  decision,  accedes  to  it,  merely 
placing  his  intimate  knowledge  of  Miss  Murdoch  at  the 
disposal  of  her  new  lover  and  assuring  him  that  the 
possession  of  her  precious  affections  will  require  "a  lot 
of  money."  The  hopeful  Madison  avows  his  fore- 
knowledge of  that  interesting  fact,  and  announces  an 
energetic  purpose  to  accumulate  the  necessary  cash.  An 
amazing  agreement  is  then  made  between  those  two 
men:  if  while  Madison,  in  the  far  West,  is  toiling  for 
wealth  Miss  Murdoch  should  seek  the  aid  and  "comfort 
other  than  pecuniary"  (Alexander  Hamilton)  of  the 
festive  Brockton,  in  the  far  East,  the  young  woman 
shall  be  compelled  to  notify  Mr.  Madison  of  that  fact; 
while  if  Brockton  should  seek  to  resume  his  relations 
with  Miss  Murdock  he  will  communicate  his  purpose 
to  the  said  Madison. 

Miss  Murdock  returns  to  New  York  and  makes  an 
effort  to  earn  her  living  as  a  theatrical  performer. 
Brockton  uses  private  influence  to  thwart  her  purpose, 
by  keeping  her  out  of  employment.  She  dwells  in  a 
wretched  boarding-house,  among  impoverished  persons. 
She  pawns  her  jewels.  She  cannot  pay  the  rent  of  her 
abode.  Brockton  sends  to  her  another  courtesan,  a 
former  associate,  to  ascertain  her  circumstances  and 
persuade  her  to  return  to  his  service,  in  her  former 
capacity.  She  resumes  her  occupation  as  a  concubine. 
Brockton  dictates  a  farewell  letter  which  he  commands 


484.  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

her  to  write  and  send  to  Madison,  places  $500  on  her 
bureau,  and  leaves  her  to  execute  his  command.  That, 
after  reflection,  she  decides  not  to  do,  keeping  her 
decision  a  secret — so  that  neither  Madison  nor  Brockton 
is  advised  of  it.  A  little  time  passes,  and,  on  a  morning 
after  a  debauch,  Brockton  reads  in  a  newspaper  that 
Madison  has  found  gold,  and  Miss  31urdock  receives  a 
telegram  from  her  betrothed  swain  stating  that  he  is 
about  to  arrive  and  will  marry  her  at  once.  Brockton 
now  learns  that  Madison  has  not  been  apprised  of  her 
infidelity.  A  quarrel  occurs,  but  Brockton  is  persuaded 
to  leave  to  Miss  Murdoch  the  pleasing  duty  of  enlight- 
ening the  Colorado  lover.  Madison  comes  and  Miss 
Murdock  lies  to  him,  saying  that  she  has  prospered  on 
the  stage,  and  is  living  on  the  remuneration  of  her 
labor, — whereupon  he  goes  forth  to  arrange  for  their 
marriage.  Brockton  reappears,  and  there  is  another 
row,  more  violent  than  the  first — so  that  Brockton  tem- 
porarily retires.  Madison  returns  and  is  about  to  depart 
with  his  salubrious  sweetheart,  when  Brockton  re-enters 
and  signifies,  by  his  familiar  conduct,  that  he  is  at  home. 
Madison  instantly  perceives  the  truth,  draws  a  pistol, 
and  is  about  to  blow  Mr.  Brockton's  head  off,  when 
Miss  Murdock  exclaims  "Don't  shoot!"  Those  mystic 
words  would,  of  course,  instantly  check  the  actions  of 
a  passionate  man,  frenzied  with  jealousy,  rage,  and 
furious  resentment  of  monstrous  deceit!  At  all  events 
they  do — in  this  play.     Brockton  improves  the  occasion 


"THE    EASIEST    WAY"  485 

by  delivering  a  speech  of  commiseration,  assuring  Madi- 
son that  he  "would  not  have  had  this  thing  happen  for 
anything" ;  after  which  he  makes  a  glad  escape.  Madison 
then  denounces  Miss  Murdoch,  in  good,  set  terms,  and 
Miss  Murdoch  produces  a  pistol  and  declares  the  inten- 
tion of  suicide.  Madison  summons  a  negro  servant,  to 
witness  this  heroic  deed,  but  Miss  Murdoch  proves 
unequal  to  the  emergency,  and  Madison  gravely  retires. 
Miss  Murdoch,  finding  that  she  has  lost  both  the  oppor- 
tunity of  getting  a  husband  and  the  certainty  of  retain- 
ing a  pecunious  paramour,  hurls  her  pistol  into  a  drawer, 
utters  vehement  remarks,  and  finally  commands  her 
servant  to  dress  her  in  her  finest  attire,  so  that  she  can 
repair  to  a  popular  restaurant  and  "make  a  hit" — 
meaning,  apparently,  in  order  that  she  can  successfully 
resume  her  original  and  principal  vocation.  That  is 
the  play  of  "The  Easiest  Way." 

"It  is  not  nor  it  cannot  come  to  good."  To  look  at 
such  a  spectacle  is  not  to  be  benefited;  it  is  only  to  be 
disgusted.  The  mind  of  the  observer  is  filled  with 
loathsome  images  of  corrupt  conduct  and  is  drenched 
with  a  sense  of  degradation.  The  only  really  respectable 
person  in  the  drama  is  an  honest  theatrical  "advance 
agent,"  a  poor  fellow,  who  is  trying  to  do  his  work 
well,  and  whose  presence,  although  the  part  has  nothing 
to  do  with  the  play,  affords  some  relief  to  its  continuous 
portraiture  of  evil  motive  and  vile  behavior.  That 
part,  Jim  Weston,  was  acted  in  a  thoroughly  able  man- 


486  THE    .WALLET    OF    TIME 

ner  by  Mr.  William  Sampson,  an  actor  trained  in  a 
good  school,  following  in  the  wake  of  that  true  artist 
and  humorist,  James  Lewis,  and  bettering  the  instruction 
he  received  from  Augustin  Daly  and  in  the  companion- 
ship of  Charles  Fisher,  Ada  Rehan,  and  Mrs.  Gilbert. 
Mr.  Sampson  is  not  a  leader;  his  abilities  do  not  tend, 
so  far  as  known,  toward  great  characters;  his  style  is 
hard,  and  his  acting  is  somewhat  colored  with  a  self- 
complacency  which  lessens  its  effect;  but — he  is  an  artist; 
he  can  assume  character  and  sustain  it;  and  he  can 
indicate  deep  feeling. 

The  character  of  Madison  is  a  distortion  of  Nature. 
The  conduct  of  the  man  is  improbable,  to  the  last 
degree — and  he  is  offered  as  natural!  Madison  has 
lived  a  profligate  life.  Profligate  men  do  not  select 
their  wives  from  the  demi-monde.  If  they  do  not  know 
much,  they  know  better  than  that.  An  idolatrous  pas- 
sion might,  perhaps,  overwhelm  such  a  man;  but,  if  it 
should  do  so,  he  would  never,  at  the  last,  suffer  the 
wretched  courtesan  to  be  tossed  back  upon  the  dung- 
hill of  depravity.  Such  a  man  as  Madison  is  shown 
to  be  would  have  used  his  pistol,  would  have  shot  both 
the  liars  who  had  tricked  him,  and,  very  likely,  would 
then  have  shot  himself. 

Brockton  is  well  drawn,  though  involved  in  an  absurd 
situation.  He  represents  one  of  the  vilest  and  most 
detestable  classes  in  modern  society — the  vicious,  licen- 
tious, cynical  business  men,  who  accumulate  wealth  by 


"THE    EASIEST    WAY"  487 

all  means  of  acquisition  that  they  can  employ  without 
being  sent  to  prison,  and  who  live  for  the  gratification 
of  their  sensual  desires.  The  theatrical  community 
saw  that  ideal  made  terribly  actual  in  the  late  Richard 
Mansfield's  great,  but  loathsome,  impersonation  of 
Baron  Chevrial.  Mr.  Joseph  Kilgour's  embodiment  of 
Brockton  was  truthful,  and  it  was  commendable  equally 
for  art  and  truth.  It  exhibited  self-control,  poise, 
authority,  and  the  right  kind  of  physique  with  which  to 
"look  the  part."  The  actor  used  a  hard  voice,  with 
nasal  tones,  characteristic  of  this  climate  and  that  class, 
and  he  sustained  the  character  evenly  and  more  than 
well — so  well  as  to  be  revolting. 

The  character  of  Laura  Murdoch  incorporates  innate 
selfishness,  inordinate  vanity,  contemptible  weakness, 
and  a  consenting  disposition  toward  treachery  and  vice. 
Her  experience  is  hard  and  her  condition  becomes 
pitiable,  because  woman  in  trouble  is  always  pitiable; 
yet  she  never  awakens  pity.  In  all  respects  her  conduct 
is  vile.  Miss  Frances  Starr  acted  the  part  and  showed 
vivacity  and  energy.  The  actress  has  profited  by  Mr. 
Belasco's  instruction.  In  him  she  has  a  teacher  pos- 
sessed of  great  knowledge  of  life,  of  the  Stage,  and  of 
the  art  of  acting.  Her  performance  was  consistent, 
varied,  and  sustained,  while  neither  sympathetic  nor 
impressive.  There  was  a  wealth  of  photographic  detail 
in  it,  which  is  not  authoritative  as  acting,  though  suf- 
ficiently useful  as  ornament. 


488  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

The  drama  of  "The  Easiest  Way"  was  produced  with 
excessive  attention  to  detail.  The  rooms  were  repro- 
ductions of  fact.  Nothing  in  the  matter  of  surface 
detail  was  forgotten, — from  the  rickety  wardrobe,  with 
doors  that  will  not  close;  the  disordered  sheets  of  music 
and  other  truck  piled  on  top  of  it,  in  the  boarding- 
house  chamber,  to  the  picturesque,  discreetly  restrained, 
disorder  of  the  opulent  apartments,  the  signs  of  a 
drunken  orgy,  and  the  artfully  disclosed  and  disordered 
bed.  All  that  stage  management  could  do  to  create  and 
deepen  the  impression  of  reality,  in  the  presentation  of 
a  vicious  play,  was  done.  The  result  was  a  deformity 
magnificently  framed  to  look  like  nature.  Many  thou- 
sands of  persons  have  seen  the  play;  no  person  is  the 
better  or  the  happier  for  having  seen  it.  There  is 
nothing  in  it  to  be  enjoyed;  there  is  nothing  to  be  learned 
front  it.  There  was  nothing  in  it  but  some  technical 
merit  in  acting,  and  the  creation  of  atmosphere, — 
and  the  better  those  things  are,  when  applied  to  an 
offensive  subject,  the  more  reprehensible  becomes  its 
theatrical  representation:  at  the  very  best,  only  another 
thing  done  well  that  ought  not  to  have  been  done  at  all. 

"THE    THUNDERBOLT." 

In  his  play  of  "The  Thunderbolt," — first  produced 
in  America  at  the  New  Theatre,  New  York,  November 
12,  1910, — in  some  respects  the  best  play  that  he  has 
written,  Pinero  provided  an  absorbing  story  of  actual 


"THE    THUNDERBOLT"  489 

life,  diversified  and  strongly  contrasted  types  of  char- 
acter, situations  of  suspense,  and  dialogue  which  pos- 
sesses the  authentic  sound  of  truth  and  which  is  adroitly 
and  effectively  interblended  with  action.  The  scene  is 
laid  in  an  English  provincial  city  of  to-day.  The  per- 
sons essentially  concerned  are,  for  the  most  part,  mem- 
bers of  one  family,  named  Mortimore.  It  is  premised 
that  a  wealthy  member  of  that  family  has  died,  and 
that  his  relatives,  the  "next  of  kin,"  are  eager  to  inherit 
his  large  estate.  Search  has  been  made  for  a  will  of  the 
deceased,  but  no  will  has  been  found, — the  reason  being 
that  a  member  of  the  family,  Phillis  Mortimore,  wife 
of  one  of  the  deceased  man's  brothers,  has  stolen  and 
surreptitiously  destroyed  it.  The  heirs-at-law,  most  of 
whom  are  persons  of  common,  selfish,  sordid  character, 
are  pleased  that  no  obstacle  should  exist  to  their  acquisi- 
tion of  a  valuable  inheritance,  and  they  prepare  to 
take  possession  of  it.  Phillis  Mortimore,  overwhelmed 
by  remorse,  confesses  to  her  husband  the  crime  that 
she  has  committed,  and  he,  in  turn,  taking  her  fault 
and  shame  upon  himself,  apprises  the  expectant  heirs 
that  their  deceased  relative  did,  in  fact,  leave  a  will, 
bequeathing  his  entire  estate  to  his  illegitimate  daugh- 
ter, and  he  narrates  to  them  the  particulars  of  the 
theft  and  destruction  of  it,  as  having  been  effected  by 
himself.  That  disclosure  is  the  Thunderbolt,  shatter- 
ing a  structure  of  many  expectations  and  selfish  plans. 


490  THE   WALLET    OF    TIME 

Discrepancies  in  the  confession,  however,  are  detected 
by  two  lawyers,  who  are  among  the  auditors  of  it,  and 
by  means  of  their  incisive  questioning  the  identity  of 
the  actual  criminal  is  disclosed.  In  the  sequel  the 
estate  is  conceded  to  the  rightful  heir,  a  lovely  girl, 
who,  with  startling  magnanimity,  shares  her  inheri- 
tance with  her  father's  relatives  and  connections,  inci- 
dentally bestowing  a  portion  upon  a  charity  hospital, — 
her  motive  being  one  of  compassion  and  extreme 
benevolence. 

The  several  characters  in  this  play  are  discriminated 
with    peculiar    and    eminently    felicitous    skill.      James 
Mortimore   is   a   sturdy,    honest,    blunt,    matter-of-fact, 
self-sufficient,    dominant,    coarsely    animal    Englishman 
of  the  lower-middle  class,  acquisitive  and  uncouth,  but 
conscientious.     Stephen  Mortimore  is  a  greedy,  peevish, 
querulous,      narrow-minded,      insincere,      consequential, 
shrewd,  grasping,  utterly  commonplace  person.     Thad- 
deus  Mortimore  is  a  kindly  man,  of  a  far  finer  fibre 
than  that  of  his  brothers,   honest,   affectionate,  capable 
of  sentiment,  and  made  strong,  at  a  crisis,  by  love  for 
his  wife,  Phillis,  the  weak  woman  who  has  stolen  and 
destroyed  the  will.    Ann  and  Louisa,  the  wives,  respect- 
ively,  of  James  and  Stephen,  are  reputable,   insuffer- 
able vulgarians,  of  the  domestic  dullard  order,  addicted 
by  nature  to  mean,  petty,  malicious  views  and  spiteful 
gossip.     Rose  Mortimore,  wife   of  Colonel  Pouting, — 
a  bumptious,   perky,   ruthless  self-seeker, — is  an   addle- 


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"THE    THUNDERBOLT"  491 

headed  and  spiteful  copyist  of  the  London  fashionable 
lady.  Helen  Thornliill,  the  illegitimate  daughter  of 
the  deceased  Mortimore,  is  a  bright,  sweet,  resolute, 
independent  young  woman,  devoted  to  art  and  capable 
of  earning  her  living,  and,  in  a  painful  emergency, 
she  evinces  the  breadth  of  an  innately  noble  mind. 
The  precision  with  which  each  identity  is  sustained, 
in  naturally  contrived  and  inevitably  sequent  situations, 
throughout  colloquies  that  tell  the  story  without  super- 
fluous words,  is  extraordinary  and  in  the  highest  degree 
admirable.  There  are  four  acts.  In  the  first  the 
putative  heirs  are  convened  and  the  entangled  cir- 
cumstances are  made  known.  In  the  second  the  felony 
is  confessed.  In  the  third  the  truth  is  revealed  to  all 
concerned.  In  the  fourth  an  adjustment  of  affairs  is 
arranged,  accordant  to  Helen  ThornhiU's  impulse  of 
generosity  and  feminine  heedlessness  of  law  or  justice. 
The  opening  scene  is  reminiscent  of  the  opening  scene 
of  Bulwer's  comedy  of  "Money,"  and  in  contriving  that 
an  innocent  person  shall  shield  a  guilty  one,  by  assum- 
ing the  guilt,  the  dramatist  has  employed  an  old  expe- 
dient. His  use  of  old  devices  being  new  and  his  method 
brilliant,  that  does  not  matter.  The  scene  in  which 
Phillis  confesses  her  crime  and  that  in  which  Thaddeus 
is  questioned  by  the  lawyers  are  singularly  vital  pieces 
of  dramatic  construction  and  writing,  and  during  the 
performance  of  them  the  audience  is  held  in  a  tremor 
of    suspense.      In    almost    every    particular    the    acting 


402  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

was  worthy  of  the  play.  Mr.  Louis  Calvert's  embodi- 
ment of  James  Mortimorc, — solid  with  force  of  char- 
acter, massive  with  resolution,  firmly  poised  upon  will, 
narrow  in  mentality,  hard  in  temperament,  and  clearly 
indicative  of  that  person's  long  experience  of  a  grind- 
ing, bitter,  harsh  ordeal  of  life, — ranks  with  the  best 
examples  that  the  contemporary  Stage  has  provided  of 
common  human  nature.  The  physical  investiture  of  it 
was  perfect.  Mr.  A.  E.  Anson,  in  the  more  complex 
and  exacting  part  of  Thaddeus  Mortimore,  gave  a 
rare  example  of  sympathetic  and  impressive  imper- 
sonation, making  the  character  distinct,  sustaining  it 
without  deviation,  and  amply  responding  to  the  heavy 
demand  which  it  makes  upon  deep  feeling  and  fervent 
expression.  The  sweet,  cheerful  spirit  of  Thaddeus, 
before  he  knows  that  his  wife  has  stolen  the  will,  and 
his  protective  tenderness  toward  that  wretched,  suffer- 
ing woman,  after  her  confession,  were  shown  in  a  manner 
that  was  lovely  in  its  sincerity  and  simplicity.  The  per- 
vasive tone  of  the  performance  was  purely  chivalrous. 
The  false  story  of  the  theft  and  destruction  of  the  will, 
told  in  the  vain  effort  to  protect  his  wife,  was  uttered 
with  a  subdued  earnestness  and  a  breaking  voice  that 
were  truly  pathetic,  and  the  aggregate  of  the  perform- 
ance,— demeanor,  speech,  listening  quietude,  and  expres- 
sive movement, — was  clearly  indicative  of  quick  per- 
ception of  character,  fine  mentality,  knowledge  of 
human  nature,   and  either  an  informing  experience  of 


"THE    THUNDERBOLT"  493 

sorrow  or  an  intuitive  grasp  of  the  meaning  of  it.  The 
manner  of  the  exit  when  the  afflicted  husband  exclaims 
"I  never  have  regretted  my  marriage," — meaning  to 
testify  his  unshaken,  abiding  faith  in  the  woman  whose 
wrong-doing  he  knows  but  rightly  attributes  to  weak- 
ness and  not  to  wickedness, — was  so  fine  that  it  illumined 
the  actor  as  well  as  the  character.  Louis  Gottschalk 
made  the  peppery  little  Colonel  Fonting  comically 
absurd  and  offensively  real  in  his  utter  selfishness, — as 
he  ought  to  be.  The  sterling  value  of  personality  in  the 
actor  and  of  repose  in  the  actor's  art  was  graphically 
shown  by  Mr.  E.  M.  Holland  and  Mr.  Ben  Johnson 
in  their  respective  performances  of  the  two  lawyers, 
Elkin  and  Vallance, — slight  parts,  but  made  of  exactly 
the  right  importance  by  equable  sustainment  of  dignity, 
good  breeding,  and  judicial  demeanor.  Mr.  Johnson's 
manner  and  tone  of  voice,  in  uttering  the  words  "Good 
morning,"  as  Vallance  makes  his  final  exit,  were  at  once 
exceedingly  amusing  and  subtly  expositive  of  the  faculty 
of  suggestive  expression,  half-revealing,  as  they  did, 
a  whole  volume  of  meaning — the  contemptuous  disgust 
of  a  lawyer  who  is  a  gentleman  for  clients  whom  he 
despises  and  for  the  sordid  attributes  of  human  nature 
of  which  he  has  seen  so  much  and  grown  so  weary. 
Miss  Olive  Wyndham,  as  Helen  Thornhill,  pleased  by 
her  refinement  of  manner,  the  ease  of  her  level  speak- 
ing, and  the  earnest  feeling  that  she  evinced  in  the  few 
moments  of  excitement  which  are  provided  for  the  part. 


494  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

Certain  exasperating  and  certain  ludicrous  traits  of  the 
petty,  conventional,  commonplace  female  character  were 
made  sufficiently  evident  by  Mrs.  Harriett  Otis  Dellen- 
baugh,  Miss  Helen  Reimer,  and  Miss  Olive  Oliver,  as 
Ann,  Louisa,  and  Rose  Mortimore,  who  are,  in  a  sense, 
echoes  of  their  respective  husbands.  Ann  Mortimore  s 
iterated  assurance  "that  there  are  two  sides  to  every 
question"  was  skilfully  made  to  illustrate  the  vex- 
atious dreariness  of  the  dullard  mind,  and  Miss  Reimer 
was  clever  in  her  utterance  of  it.  Pinero  has  often 
shown  in  his  plays, — and  shown  in  an  amusing  fash- 
ion,— his  contemptuous  impatience  with  hide-bound 
character  and  stupid  ways  of  life  and  thought.  One  of 
the  chief  charms  of  the  representation  of  "The  Thunder- 
bolt" was  the  element  of  dramatic  picture  in  it, — as  when 
the  attention  of  all  the  persons  involved  is  centred  upon 
one  point,  during  Elkins  questioning  of  Thaddeus 
Mortimore.  Every  figure,  in  that  scene,  was  expressive 
and  every  face  eloquent.  The  opening  of  the  play 
would  sooner  awaken  the  interest  of  an  audience  if  the 
secret  of  the  theft  and  destruction  of  the  will  were 
sooner  and  more  clearly  intimated. 

It  was  a  pleasure  to  met  Arthur  Pinero  again  in  his 
proper  field.  For  years  he  had  chosen  to  follow  in  the 
track  of  certain  French  dramatists  who  undertake  to 
dispense  "moral  instruction"  in  the  Theatre  by  exhibit- 
ing "the  seamy  side"  of  life,  and,  in  such  plays  as  "The 
Gay   Lord   Quex"   and   "Iris,"   he   had  invited   miscel- 


"THE    THUNDERBOLT"  495 

laneous  public  consideration  and  discussion  of  the  dis- 
reputable proceedings  of  bawds  and  blackguards.  In 
"The  Thunderbolt"  he  turned  away  from  those  tainted, 
tiresome,  barren  themes  and  emerged  as  the  expert 
painter  and  delicate  satirist  of  human  nature  who 
charmed  society,  long  ago,  by  "Sweet  Lavender,"  "The 
Squire,"  "The  Cabinet  Minister,"  "The  Magistrate," 
"The  Amazons,"  "Trelawny  of  the  Wells,"  and  "The 
Princess  and  the  Butterfly."  He  is  a  dramatist  of 
brilliant  ability,  and  the  devotion  of  his  fine  talents 
exclusively  to  clean  subjects  would  be  an  immense  pub- 
lic benefit.  The  company  into  which  the  spectator  of 
"The  Thunderbolt"  is  introduced, — for  the  most  part 
neither  pleasant  nor  lovable, — is  literal,  not  ideal,  being 
drawn,  as  Hogarth  drew,  from  knowledge  rather  than 
imagination,  but  it  is  not  revolting  by  reason  of  base 
propensity,  and  it  inspires  and  retains  interest.  Human 
beings,  whether  generous  or  selfish,  are  shown  in  domes- 
tic relations  and  pursuits  which  are  not  controlled  by 
erotic  motive  or  swathed  in  the  dense  atmosphere  of 
sensuality.  The  play  accentuates  contempt  for  mean- 
ness and  greed,  and  at  the  same  time  it  prompts  a 
gentle  pity  for  human  weakness  and  error,  while  also 
it  stimulates  thought  on  the  strange  variety  of  condi- 
tions in  which  members  of  every  community  live,  and 
thus  tends  to  broaden  an  observer's  perception  of  social 
systems  and  human  fate. 


496  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

"POMANDER     WALK." 

"We  love  the  rare  old  days  and  rich 
That  poetry  has  painted; 
We  mourn  that  sacred  age  with  which 
We  never  were  ac quaint edV 

— Frederick   Locker. 

In  the  ministration  of  art  it  has  long  been  more  or 
less  customary,  and  of  late  years  it  has  been  almost 
incessant,  to  choose  for  representation  images  of  man- 
kind that  are  horrible  and  phases  of  human  conduct 
that  are  revolting,  and  to  justify  the  choice  by  declar- 
ing that  the  purpose  of  art  is  to  hold  the  mirror  up 
to  Nature, — as  if  Nature,  necessarily  and  exclusively, 
is  everything  ugly  and  venomous.  The  function  of 
tragic  art,  as  stated  by  Aristotle  and  confirmed  by 
the  experience  of  ages,  is  to  excite  pity  and  terror. 
That  proposition  is  undisputed:  the  heart  can  be 
touched  and  the  mind  elevated  by  the  exposition  of 
tragic  experience;  but  there  is  a  wide  difference  between 
the  portrayal  of  tragic  experience  and  the  portrayal 
of  morbid  anatomy  and  physical  disease.  The  practice 
of  showing  abhorrent  types  of  character  and-  depraved 
conditions,  particularly  on  the  stage,  has  been  pushed 
to  an  insufferably  tedious  extreme.  If  the  purpose 
of  the  arts  is  not  to  help  mankind, — to  advance  civili- 
zation, to  awaken  and  stimulate  the  love  of  beauty,  to 
diffuse  gentleness  of  feeling  and  refinement  of  manners, 


"POMANDER    WALK"  497 

and,  while  giving  pleasure,  to  make  men  and  women 
better, — then  they  have  no  purpose  that  is  worthy  of  being 
considered.  If  there  were  nothing  more  in  the  practice 
of  the  art  of  the  Theatre  than  that  one  person  should 
display  ingenuity  in  observing  and  making  records  of 
the  surfaces  of  common  individuals  and  experiences, 
that  another  person  should  display  cleverness  in  embody- 
ing and  animating  those  records,  and  that  still  another 
should  admire  and  applaud  their  ingenuity  and  clever- 
ness, then,  indeed,  the  art  of  the  Theatre  would  be  no 
more  worthy  of  thoughtful  attention  than  are  the  grim- 
aces and  gyrations  of  monkeys  in  a  cage.  It  happens, 
however,  that  the  art  of  the  Theatre  is  intellectual, 
that  it  has  often  been  made  beautiful,  and  that  it  can 
always  be  made  so.  All  intelligent  and  earnest  actors 
and  writers,  however  they  may  chance  to  differ  as  to 
methods  and  details  of  execution,  are  implacably 
opposed  to  misuse  and  degradation  of  the  Stage,  and 
there  are  discernible  signs  that  the  public  mind  is  in 
close  S3rmpathy  with  such  actors  and  writers,  and,  par- 
ticularly of  late,  is  antagonistic  to  that  managerial 
policy  which,  whether  from  ignorance  or  greed  or  both, 
has  done  much  to  blight  the  true  prosperity  of  the  Thea- 
tre and  degrade  its  art.  When,  accordingly,  a  dramatist 
pursues  the  simple,  honest,  direct,  and  proper  course 
in  writing  for  the  Stage,  exemplifying  dissent  from  a 
prevalent  proclivity  for  drama  that  is  "strong"  with  the 
strength  of  the  onion,  there  is  legitimate  cause  for  public 


498  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

rejoicing.  Such  cause  was  provided  by  the  expert  pro- 
fessional achievement  of  Louis  N.  Parker,  in  his  play 
called  "Pomander  Walk." 

In  that  comedy,  which  was  brought  forth  for  the 
first  time  in  New  York  at  Wallack's  Theatre  on  De- 
cember 20,  1910,  there  is  more  of  picture  than  of 
play,  but  the  picture  is  healthful  and  pretty,  and, 
though  an  idealized  transcript  of  ordinary,  usual,  prob- 
able life,  it  is  warm  with  kindly  feeling,  gay  with  play- 
fulness, and  lovely  with  delicate  sentiment.  The  con- 
struction of  the  piece  could  be  made  more  symmetrical 
by  the  excision  of  superfluous  colloquy,  and  the  dia- 
logue could  be  improved  by  the  excision  of  a  few  tart 
lines  which  are  inharmonious  with  the  otherwise  invari- 
ably genial  spirit  of  the  composition,  and  also  by  such 
a  recasting  of  the  explanatory  conversation  between 
Lord  Otford  and  Madame  Lachesnais  as  would  extir- 
pate the  element  of  artificiality;  but  there  is  valuable 
substance  of  truth  in  the  piece,  there  is  novelty  in  the 
investiture  of  it,  and  those  merits  impart  to  it  decisive 
value  and  charm:  its  total  effect  is  delightful. 

It  was  a  happily  inventive  plan  that  selected  a  little 
blind  alley  in  the  suburbs  of  mighty  London  as  a 
scene  for  exhibition  of  the  tastefully  selected  every- 
day proceedings  of  every-day  persons.  Many  such 
strange  little  byways, — backwaters  in  the  turbulent, 
rushing  stream  of  civic  life, — were  to  be  found  in  Lon- 
don.    Dickens  and   Thackeray   utilized  them  and   pur- 


"POMANDER    WALK"  499 

sued  the  same  method,  and  the  influence  of  those 
authors  is  distinctly  evident  in  Mr.  Parker's  pleasing 
fabric  of  contrasted  characters,  ordinary  incidents, 
odd  little  dilemmas,  ludicrous  situations,  and  ambling 
colloquy, — a  colloquy  touched  with  quizzical,  lambent 
humor  and  with  a  delicate  feeling  that  is  sympa- 
thetic with  the  ardor  of  youth  and  neither  ignorant 
nor  regardless  of  the  sensibility  of  age.  It  is  not 
possible  to  tell  a  dramatic  story  without  portraying 
character:  it  is  possible  to  portray  character  without 
telling  a  dramatic  story;  and  that  is  what,  essentially, 
Mr.  Parker  has  done  in  "Pomander  Walk."  The  ele- 
ment of  character, — perhaps  the  most  vitally  inter- 
esting single  element  observable  in  either  life  or  art, — 
is  its  chief  merit,  and  the  author  has  contrived  to 
make  contrast  and  suggestion  wonderfully  effective. 
Lord  Otfjrd  is  a  widower.  Madame  Lachesnais  is  a 
widow.  They  are  in  the  autumn  of  life.  In  its  spring- 
time they  were  lovers,  but  the  imperious  father  of  the 
youth  compelled  him  to  discard  the  girl,  and  so  they 
were  alienated.  After  many  years  and  much  experi- 
ence they  meet  again,  in  Pomander  Walk,  strangely 
drawn  together  by  the  fortuitous  circumstance  that 
the  son  of  the  man  and  the  daughter  of  the  woman 
have  met,  loved,  and  plighted  their  troth.  The  old 
love  has  lasted,  and  it  springs  up  from  its  embers 
and  glows  again  into  the  vital  beauty  of  a  sweet, 
tranquil  affection.     The  old  lovers,  finally,  are  united, 


500  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

and  the  young  lovers, — at  first  thwarted, — are  made 
happy  by  parental  sanction,  and  so  all  perplexity  is  dis- 
pelled. A  sweet,  simple  story,  all  the  better  and  all 
the  more  attractive  for  its  sweetness  and  simplicity! 
One  of  the  six  houses  in  Pomander  Walk  is  occupied 
by  a  retired  naval  officer,  a  bluff,  breezy,  vehement, 
vociferous  old  man,  who  would  befriend  the  young 
lovers,  and  who  is  pursued  and  ultimately  captured, 
in  matrimony,  by  his  next-door  neighbor,  an  elderly 
widow.  Another  of  those  houses  is  tenanted  by  a 
retired  butler  who  possesses  a  sentimental,  jealous, 
ailing  wife,  and  who, — being,  in  reality,  employed  as 
a  paid  toastmaster  at  a  city  club, — makes  himself 
ridiculous  by  bedizening  his  fat  person  with  fantastic 
fine  raiment,  and  pretending  to  be  a  man  of  fashion, 
an  exquisite  dandy  and  a  crony  of  Sheridan,  Fox,  and 
the  Prince  Regent.  A  bashful  violinist  lodges,  with 
two  maiden  ladies,  in  a  fourth  of  those  habitations 
and  is  enamored  of  one  of  them,  to  whom  he  dares 
not  declare  his  passion  till  prompted  by  a  parrot  which 
has  been  taught  by  the  lady  to  interject  into  its  cus- 
tomarily profane  discourse  an  admonition  which,  pres- 
ently, is  vociferously  delivered  to  the  violinist:  "Burn 
your  lungs  and  liver!  Tell  Barbara  you  love  her!" 
Another  denizen  of  the  Walk  is  a  mild,  seedy  old 
clergyman,  brimful  of  antiquarian  lore,  heraldic  and 
other,  whom  the  youth,  Lieutenant  Sayle,  son  of  Lord 
Otford,  presses  into  his  service,  in  the  winning  of  his 


"POMANDER   WALK"  501 

sweetheart,  the  daughter  of  Madame  Lachesnais.  The 
Lone  Fisherman  of  the  burlesque  of  "Evangeline" 
reappears,  in  the  person  of  a  silent  angler,  in  the  last 
stages  of  shabbiness,  who  is  called  The  Eyesore,,  and 
whose  only  business  is  to  fish  in  the  Thames  River, 
which  flows  past  the  end  of  Pomander  Walk,  and 
never  get  a  bite.  The  whimsical  display  of  persons, 
eighteen  in  number,  some  notable,  others  insignificant, 
— meeting,  talking,  parting,  misunderstanding  one 
another,  but  at  last  coming  into  harmony, — constitutes 
whatever  drama  can  be  found  in  "Pomander  Walk." 
Viewed  abstractly  as  a  play,  "Pomander  Walk"  is 
gossamer  contrasted  with  such  modern  examples  of 
drama  as  "The  Middleman,"  "Wealth,"  "Judah,"  "The 
Princess  and  the  Butterfly,"  "Jim  the  Penman,"  "Diplo- 
macy," "Alabama,"  "Leah  Kleschna,"  "The  Thief," 
"The  Witching  Hour,"  and  "The  Thunderbolt."  It 
ranks  in  the  category  of  less  substantial  but  more  deli- 
cate fabrics  of  lace-like  mechanism,  plays  round  which 
many  happy  memories  are  twined,  such  as  "Sweet  Lav- 
ender," "Rosemary,"  "The  Professor's  Love  Story," 
and  "A  Royal  Family."  The  sources  of  some  of  the 
characters  and  some  of  the  "business"  might  be  named; 
but  the  jolly  tar  who  throws  open  his  window  in  order 
to  join  in  a  chorus  and  then  slams  it  shut  again  is 
not  less  funny  because  he  comes,  originally,  from  the 
street  where  Captain  Cuttle  dwelt  with  Mrs.  McStinger. 
Admiral  Antrobus  and  his  faithful  old  sea  dog  are  not 


502  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

less  interesting  because  they  were  once  called  Admiral 
Bertram  and  old  Mazey  and  dwelt  at  St.  Crux  in  the 
Marsh.  The  humbug  Brook-Hoskyns  is  not  less  a 
comic  absurdity  because  he  has  long  abounded  in  Thack- 
eray's sketches.  Judgment  is  thankful  that  the  worth 
of  the  piece  is  so  much  and  the  defect  of  it  so  little. 
The  presence  of  such  a  play  on  our  Stage  at  any  time 
is  nothing  less  than  a  public  benefaction. 

LEAVES    FROM    MY    JOURNAL. 
THE    WAKE    OF    MRS.    WARREN. 

March  31,  1907: — The  wake  of  Sister  Warren,  con- 
ducted by  Sister  Shaw  at  the  Manhattan  Theatre,  Iils 
lasted  three  weeks.  The  mourning  was  concluded 
there  last  night.  It  began  on  March  9,  and  the  services 
over  Brother  Shaw's  odoriferous  heroine,  besides  enlist- 
ing the  services  of  Sister  Shaw,  have  implicated  the 
rites  that  are  appropriate  to  such  solemnities.  The 
deceased  was  becomingly  decorated  and  the  mourners, 
particularly  Sister  Shaw  and  the  Chevalier  Ratcliffe, 
poured  a  liberal  spirit  into  their  lamentations,  and 
enjoyed,  to  the  fullest  extent,  "the  luxury  of  woe." 
Mrs.  Warren,  it  is  remembered,  was  knocked  on  the 
head,  about  a  year  ago,  by  a  policeman's  club,  and 
she  died  in  consequence.  The  cadaver  has  been  in  cold 
storage  ever  since,  awaiting  the  arrival  of  bereaved 
friends.      The    weepers    have    been    somewhat    slow    in 


THE    WAKE    OF    MRS.   WARREN      503 

coming,  but  they  have  come  at  last,  and  it  is  a  melan- 
choly pleasure  to  record  that  the  sad  relics  of  Brother 
Shaw's  admired  friend  have  been  duly  mourned.  The 
defunct  Sister  will  be  paraded  through  other  cities  with 
a  view  to  a  more  protracted  lamentation.  The  burial, 
it  is  understood,  will  occur  at  the  convenience  of  the 
Shaw  Family.  It  was  noticed  by  Lord  Byron  that 
"there  is  a  tear  for  all  that  die,"  and  it  may  here  be 
said  that  the  profound  truth  of  his  lordship's  touching 
remark  receives  fresh  confirmation  in  view  of  the 
occurrence  of  these  solemn  obsequies  of  Mrs.  Warren. 
The  dear  deceased  was,  in  her  lifetime,  an  inveterate 
bore,  a  public  nuisance,  and  an  object  of  general  aver- 
sion; but  she  has  run  her  course,  and  there  can  be  no 
possible  objection  to  the  interment  of  her  frailties  with 
her  bones.  Meanwhile,  it  is  sweet  and  commendable 
on  the  part  of  Sister  Shaw  and  company  to  weep  for 
her,  and  likewise  for  the  undertaker  to  pipe  his  eye. 
Let  the  pious  drops  exude,  till,  in  kind  Nature's  course, 
their  fount  is  dried.  "The  Court  will  wear  full  mourn- 
ing for  a  week." 


There  is  a  serious  word  to  say  relative  to  the  attempt 
to  foist  that  nuisance  on  the  Public  and  the  Stage. 
The  play  of  "Mrs.  Warren's  Profession"  was  first  pro- 
duced at  the  Hyperion  Theatre,  in  New  Haven,  Con- 


504  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

neeticut,  on  October  27,  1905,  by  Mr.  Arnold  Daly,  an 
actor,  and  Mr.  Samuel  W.  Gompertz.  The  Mayor  of 
New  Haven  prevented  a  repetition  of  it  there.  On 
October  80  the  play  was  produced  at  the  Garrick 
Theatre,  New  York.  The  principal  parts  were,  on 
that  occasion,  cast  thus: 

Sir  George  Crofts Fred  Tyler 

Rev.  Samuel  Gardner John  Findlay 

Frank  Gardner Arnold  Daly 

Mrs.  Warren Mary  Shaw 

Vivie  Warren Chrystal  Heme 

A  portion  of  the  public,  seeming  to  suppose  that  the 
performance  was  to  be  an  exhibition  of  libidinous  inde- 
cency, made  a  disgraceful  and  revolting  spectacle  of 
itself  in  an  effort  to  obtain  admission  to  the  theatre. 
Only  one  presentment  of  the  piece  was  given, — a  repeti- 
tion of  it  being  prevented  by  order  of  the  Police  Com- 
missioner, William  McAdoo.  The  right  to  present  the 
play  in  public,  affirming  that  to  do  so  was  not  to 
maintain  a  public  nuisance,  was  eventually  established 
by  the  courts,  in  New  York  State.  Much  paltry 
twaddle  has  been  uttered  about  the  "good  effect"  of 
its  production.  The  Dean  of  the  University  of 
Nebraska,  Lucius  Adelno  Sherman,  has  been  indicated 
as  approving  the  play.  The  learned  Professor  Phelps, 
of  Yale  University,  has  been  quoted  as  approving  of  it. 
Another  publicist  has  declared  in  print,  to  many  readers, 
that  "this  play  was  a  great  dramatist's  supreme  challenge 


THE    WAKE    OF   MRS.    WARREN       505 

to  society."  It  becomes  desirable,  therefore,  as  well  as 
pertinent,  in  this  work,  to  bestow  upon  this  play  and 
its  production  a  little  of  the  "serious  attention"  desired 
by  "serious  minded  persons." 

Miss  Mary  Shaw  has  declared,  "one  thing  I  saw 
very  clearly.  The  play  and  its  motive  were  distinctly 
misunderstood  from  the  beginning."  That,  possibly, 
is  true:  but  it  is  not  very  probable,  at  least  among 
thinking  persons.  Mr.  G.  B.  Shaw,  in  defending  his 
nasty  play  about  Mrs.  Warren,  alleged  that  his  pur- 
pose was  to  protest  against  a  shopkeeping  tyranny  which 
he  assumes  and  alleges  to  exist,  that  drives  women  into 
a  vicious  life  by  withholding  from  them  fair  wages  for 
their  labor.     These  are  Mr.  Shaw's  words: 

"The  play  ["Mrs.  Warren's  Profession"]  is,  simply,  a  study  in 
prostitution,  and  its  aim  is  to  show  that  prostitution  is  not  the 
prostitute's  fault,  but  the  fault  of  a  society  which  pays  for  a  poor 
and  pretty  woman's  prostitution  in  solid  gold,  and  pays  for  her 
honesty  with  starvation,  drudgery,  and  pious  twaddle." 

That  statement  is,  at  least,  explicit,  and  it  shows  that 
the  theme  and  character  of  Mr.  Shaw's  offensive  play 
have  not  been  altogether  misapprehended  by  intelligent 
observers.  Assuming,  for  the  sake  of  argument  (a 
violent  and  unwarranted  assumption,  in  view  of  the 
contents  of  his  play),  that  Mr.  Shaw  was  actuated  only 
by  true  humanitarian  motive,  objection  to  "Mrs.  War- 
ren"  still   remains   valid,    because   the   Theatre   is  not, 


506  THE   [WALLET    OF    TIME 

never  was,  and  never  can  be  the  proper  place  for  the 
presentment  of  such  "studies." 

Against  Mr.  Shaw's  statement  it  is  interesting  to 
place  the  statement  of  Mr.  Justice  Olmsted,  of  the 
Court  of  Special  Sessions,  made  in  the  judicial  deci- 
sion in  the  case  involving  the  play  of  "Mrs.  Warren's 
Profession,"  handed  down  on  July  6,  1906. 

"...  That  his  [Shaw's]  main  idea  was  not  the  discussion  of 
the  social  evil,  so  called,  seems  to  be  demonstrated  by  the  fact 
that  not  one  of  the  characters  of  the  play  refutes  the  sophistical 
reasoning  of  the  courtesan  mother  with  the  statement,  which  we, 
judicially,  know  to  be  true,  that  the  prostitute  is  not,  ordinarily, 
driven  to  her  choice  of  calling  by  anything  other  than  her  motive 
to  satisfy  the  desire  of  her  senses,  without  work.    ..." 

That,  as  bearing  on  Mr.  Shaw's  plea  for  the  prosti- 
tute, is  the  plain  unvarnished  truth  as  to  the  subject, 
ascertained,  by  experience,  in  the  courts  of  justice — 
and  indorsed  by  the  experience  of  mankind.  It  is 
fair,  however,  to  accept  the  author's  declaration  of 
intention  as  true.  It  will  be  observed  that  Mr.  Shaw's 
expressed  solicitude  restricts  itself  to  the  alleged 
wrongs  and  suffering  of  "a  poor  and  pretty  woman." 
There  is  a  belief  that  the  poor  and  homely  woman,  in 
trouble  or  degradation,  is  as  much  an  object  of  com- 
passion and  as  much  entitled  to  sympathy  and  help  as 
is  the  pretty  one.  But,  aside  from  the  question  of 
remedy  for  what  is  called  "the  social  evil,"  the  Theatre 
is  not  a  fit  place  for  the  "discussion"  of  that  subject 


THE   WAKE    OF    MRS.    WARREN      507 

or  any  subject  like  it.  That  prostitution  exists  and 
flourishes:  that  prostitutes  sometimes  suffer  terribly: 
that  their  existence,  and  often  diseased  condition,  is  a 
terrible  menace  to  public  health:  that  the  regulation  and, 
as  far  as  humanly  possible,  the  extirpation  of  that 
dreadful  profession  is  a  crying  need — all  that  and  much 
more  relative  to  the  subject  is  known,  and  widely 
known.  But  the  public  discussion  of  those  subjects, 
in  as  far  as  public  discussion  of  them  is  necessary, 
concerns  social  philosophers, — organizations  such  as 
Dr.  Prince  A.  Morrow's  "Society  for  Sanitation  and 
Moral  Prophylaxis" — doctors,  legislators, — persons  who 
bear  the  burden  and  responsibility  of  government  and 
who  are  competent  to  instruct  and  discuss  them  under 
the  right  conditions  and  in  the  right  way.  The  the- 
atrical audience  is  composed  largely  of  young  persons, 
many  of  them  girls,  at  an  age  when  they  are  exception- 
ally sensitive  to  impressions.  It  is  not  prudishness:  it 
is  knowledge  of  the  world  and  common  sense  that  would 
bar  anything  and  everything  tending  to  cause  and  pro- 
mote indiscriminate  notice  and  discussion  among  young 
persons,  or  in  a  promiscuous  assemblage  (such  as 
always  convenes  in  a  theatre) ,  of  such  themes  as  "the 
social  evil"  and  its  consequences.  No  right-minded, 
well-bred  person  introduces  an  indelicate,  not  to  say 
foul,  subject  for  conversation  in  a  drawing-room.  The 
introduction  of  such  a  subject  would  be  considered — 
and  justly  so — an  insult:  and  there  is  no  more  justifica- 


508  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

tion  for  insulting  people  in  a  theatre  than  there  would 
be  for  insulting  them  in  a  parlor.  The  public  does 
not  attend  the  theatre  for  the  purpose  of  obtaining 
information  and  "views"  about  evil,  its  cause  or  its  cure. 
The  notion  that  social  evils  can  be  corrected  by  writing 
plays  about  them  is  little  better  than  idiotic. 

But  Mr.  Shaw  writes  like  a  charlatan  whose  stock 
in  trade  is  paradox.  In  the  same  communication  from 
which  his  statement  above  quoted  is  taken  he  says 
that:  "There  are  people  (sic)  with  whom  you  can  dis- 
cuss such  subjects,  and  people  (sic)  to  whom  you  can- 
not mention  them.  The  patrons  of  the  prostitutes  form 
the  main  body  of  the  latter,  and  the  women  who  are 
engaged  in  rescuing  women  are  the  backbone  of  the 
former.  Get  the  rescuers  into  the  theatre,  and  keep 
the  patro?is  out.  .  .    " 

That  is,  exclude  the  persons  to  whom  the  "moral 
lesson"  of  his  play  (if  it  had  one,  which  it  has  not) 
should  be  addressed  (meaning  the  very  class  that 
teachers  of  theatrical  "lessons"  might,  perhaps,  improve 
— if  anybody  could  be  improved  by  the  "frightful 
example"),  and  "get  into  the  theatre"  the  reformers 
engaged  in  the  charitable  work  of  trying-  to  reclaim 
degraded  women, — the  reformers  (typified  at  their  best 
by  such  a  public  benefactor  as  Jane  Addams),  who  by 
personal  observation  and  contact  are  familiar  with  the 
shocking  details  of  the  subject,  and  who  know  far  more 
about  it  than  Mr.  Shaw  does,  and  do  not  require  infor- 


THE    WAKE    OF    MRS.    WARREN        509 

mation  from  him  or  anybody  else:  and  then,  having 
got  those  reformers  in,  affront  them  by  a  flippant, 
irrelevant  "study"  of  the  terrible  condition  they  are 
seeking  to  correct — having  charged  them  from  fifty 
cents  to  $2,  or  more,  for  the  affront,  and  thus  obtained 
handsome  royalties  for  a  crack-brained,  mischief-making 
English-Irish  socialist! 

Miss  Mary  Shaw,  who  has  shown  herself  not  only 
willing  but  eager  to  be  identified  as  the  representative 
of  Mrs.  Warren  and  as  a  moving  spirit  in  promoting 
its  public  presentation,  may  be  entirely  honest  in  her 
conviction,  expressed  in  print,  that  "the  central  idea  is 
the  poignant  pathos  of  a  motherhood  that  is  not  legiti- 
mate, but  is  as  loving  and  protective  as  a  legitimate 
one,"  and  that  the  presentation  of  the  play  is  for  the 
public  good.  That  is  no  reason  why  persons  of  sense 
and  sound  judgment  should  adopt  her  erroneous  view — 
which  is  an  insult  to  honest  womanhood.  The  order 
of  mind  that  can  suppose  a  fortuitous,  illegitimate 
motherhood  to  be  "as  loving  and  protective"  as  that 
which  is  the  purest  and  most  sacred  relation  of  society 
is  not  likely  to  command  profound  respect.  Whatever 
may  be  Miss  Shaw's  beliefs,  it  is  well  to  recall  that 
"Mrs.  Warren's  Profession"  was  revived,  after  its  sin- 
gle New  York  performance,  for  her  use,  by  Mr.  Al. 
H.  Woods,  the  same  "manager"  who  brought  forth 
"The  Girl  in  the  Taxi,"  "The  Girl  with  the  Whooping 
Cough,"   and   "Get    Busy   with   Emily,"— all   of   which 


510  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

were  suppressed  for  indecency, — and  'The  Narrow 
Path,"  which  was  driven  from  the  New  York  Stage, 
after  one  performance,  by  universal  denunciation;  because 
that  fact  furnishes  a  significant  denotement  of  the 
actual  motive  which  underlay  the  desire  to  "teach  les- 
sons" with  "Mrs.  Warren's  Profession."  "By  their 
fruits  ye  shall  know  them." 


XV. 

"OLIVER    TWIST" 

The  marvellous  mind  of  Charles  Dickens,  remarkable 
for  many  diverse  faculties  and  attributes,  was  especially 
remarkable  for  a  prodigious,  overwhelming  vitality,  and 
when  he  read  from  his  own  works  that  vitality  was 
poured  into  his  Readings  as  abundantly  as  it  had  been 
poured  into  the  works  themselves.  His  most  charming 
readings  were  those  which  introduced  Dr.  Marigold  and 
Mrs.  Gamp.  I  thought  when  hearing  them  that  he 
most  enjoyed  his  rendering  of  scenes  from  "Martin 
Chuzzlewit"  and  "The  Pickwick  Papers,"  but  I  know 
that  he  highly  valued  his  impersonations,— for  such  they 
were, — of  leading  characters  in  "Oliver  Twist."  He 
liked  melodrama,  and  as  a  platform  actor  he  took  great 
pains  to  impersonate  Sikes,  Nancy,  and  Fagin.  His 
son  Charles,  who  visited  America  in  1888,  and  whom 
it  was  my  privilege  to  number  among  my  friends,  told 
me  that  his  father's  physicians  earnestly  warned  him 
against  the  tremendous  efforts  he  made  as  a  reader, 
and  especially  against  the  violent  exertions  incident  to 
his  reading  from  "Oliver  Twist."  "On  one  occasion," 
so  the  younger  Dickens  continued,  "while  we  were  living 

511 


512  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

at  Gad's  Hill  a  frightful  disturbance  occurred  in  the 
neighborhood, — shrieks,  yells,  moans,  and  cries  for  help. 
On  investigation  I  found  that  the  alarming  clamor  had 
been  made  by  my  father,  who  was  rehearsing  in  the 
open  air,  and,  as  he  explained,  had,  in  the  person  of 
Sikes,  just  murdered  Nancy!" 

Dickens  wrote  "Oliver  Twist"  in  1837  and  published 
it  serially  in  "Bentley's  Magazine,"  of  which  he  was  then 
the  editor.  Book  publication  immediately  followed,  and 
in  1838  a  play,  based  on  the  novel,  was  produced  at 
two  theatres  in  London,  the  Pavilion  and  the  Surrey, 
but  representation  of  it  was  soon  prohibited  as  detri- 
mental to  the  public  welfare.  In  1839  the  play  reached 
New  York.  It  was  presented  at  the  Franklin  Theatre, 
in  Chatham  Street,  on  January  7,  that  year,  and  on 
February  7,  at  the  Park  Theatre,  in  Park  Row,  and  it 
has  been,  practically,  a  stock  piece  in  the  American 
Theatre  ever  since,  although  in  recent  years  it  has  not 
often  been  presented. 

The  arrival  of  the  Dickens  Centenary,  February  7, 
1912,  naturally  prompted  recurrence  to  the  Dickens 
Plays,  some  of  which  are  peculiarly  serviceable  because 
of  their  potent,  elemental  humanity,  abundant  humor, 
and  vivid  contrasts  of  character,  and  it  was  inevitable 
that  "Oliver  Twist"  should  be  the  first  of  those 
plays  chosen  for  revival.  There  is,  indeed,  a  valid 
objection  to  it.  Loathsome  aspects  of  actual  "slum" 
life    are    photographically    shown    in    it, — vice,    crime, 


"OLIVER    TWIST" 


513 


degradation,  brutality,  and  horror, — and  that  is  a  kind 
of  theatrical  exhibition  which  has  not  proved  itself  to 
be  beneficial  either  to  Society  or  the  Stage;  but  not- 
withstanding its  offensive  incidents,  its  squalor  of  atmos- 
phere, and  the  artificiality  of  its  sentiment,  the  old  play 
possesses  attributes  of  exceptional  theatrical  merit, — 
action,  incident,  character,  suspense,  terror,  humor,  and 
pathos, — it  abounds  in  good  parts,  and  it  provides  ample 
scope  for  exercise  of  the  faculty  of  impersonation.  A 
new  dramatic  epitome  of  some  of  the  leading  incidents 
of  the  novel  was  made  by  the  experienced  dramatist 
Joseph  Comyns-Carr,  and  was  produced,  July  10,  1905, 
at  His  Majesty's  Theatre,  London,  by  Herbert  Beer- 
bohm-Tree,  who  acted  Fagin,  and,  on  February  26, 
1912,  that  play  was  presented  at  the  New  Amsterdam 
Theatre,  New  York, — the  chief  parts  being  cast  thus: 


Fagin    . 
Nancy  . 
Bill  Sikes 
Oliver  Twist 
Rose  Maylie 
Monks  . 
Mrs.  Maylie 
'Harry  Maylie 
Mr.    Brownlow 
Mr.  Grimwig  . 


N.  C.  Goodwin 

Constance  Collier 

Lyn   Harding 

Marie  Doro 

Olive  Wyndham 

Howard  Gould 

Suzanne  Sheldon 

Courtney  Foote 

Charles  Harbury 

Fuller  Mellish 


Mr.   Carr's   version   of  the   play  is   not   a   good   one. 
It   appears    to   have   been    made    with    the    determinate 


5U  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

purpose  of  suiting  the  requirements  of  Beerbohm- 
Tree,  and,  accordingly,  the  greatest  possible  promi- 
nence was  given  to  the  character  of  Fagin, — the 
consequence  being  a  much  stronger  emphasis  on  the 
horror  of  the  story  than  on  its  humanity  and  pathos. 
Dickens  expressed  the  opinion  that  in  depicting  "the 
dregs  of  life,"  painting  criminals  "in  all  their  deformity, 
wretchedness,  and  squalid  misery,"  showing  them  "as 
they  really  were,  forever  skulking  uneasily  through  the 
dirtiest  paths  of  life,  with  the  great  black  gallows  clos- 
ing up  their  prospect,  turn  them  where  they  might,"  he 
was  doing  "something  which  would  be  a  service  to 
society."  It  was  a  mistaken  opinion:  his  depiction  of 
"the  dregs  of  life,"  in  "Oliver  Twist,"  has  done  no  good, 
has  only  served  to  show  his  close  observation  and  his 
literary  faculty:  but  his  diffusion,  in  that  work,  and 
in  other  works,  of  the  spirit  of  charit3T  has  been  of 
enormous  public  benefit.  That  is  the  spirit  which  a 
plaj7  on  this  subject  ought  particularly  to  provide  and 
which  a  performance  of  the  play  ought  to  elicit  and 
impart. 

The  performance  given  by  Goodwin  and  his  associates 
was  mechanical  and  heavy,  conveying,  as  a  whole,  little 
more  than  a  sense  of  something  wicked  and  horrible. 
Nancy  was  made  repellent,  ineffective,  and  tedious  by 
the  intrinsic  insincerity  of  the  acting  of  Constance  Col- 
lier, reinforced  by  her  grotesque  affectation  and  her  dis- 
tressingly defective  elocution.     Lyn  Harding,  as  Sikes, 


"OLIVER    TWIST"  515 

while  he  accurately  simulated  the  appearance  and 
demeanor  of  a  ruffian,  did  not  conceal  his  inherent 
antipathy  to  the  part  sufficiently  to  make  the  simulation 
convincing.  Marie  Doro  made  Oliver  merely  pretty, 
but  not  the  wretched,  forlorn,  pathetic  boy  of  the  story. 
Goodwin,  as  Fagin,  though  obnoxious,  was  not  terrible 
or  even  dangerous;  an  obvious  scoundrel,  without  a 
gleam  of  Fagin's  sardonic  humor,  without  the  weight  of 
a  formidably  wicked  character,  without  power,  and 
drearily  monotonous.  In  some  particulars  the  perform- 
ance showed  traces  of  the  well  known  manner  of  Tree. 
After  Fagin  had  denounced  Nancy  to  Sikes  and  had 
left  the  room,  and  Sikes  had  followed  Nancy  into  an 
adjoining  room,  intent  to  murder  her,  Fagin  returned, 
holding  a  lighted  candle  close  to  his  face,  so  as  to  show 
it  distorted  by  a  diabolical  grin  of  exultation,  in  the 
aperture  made  by  partly  opening  the  door.  This  Good- 
win did,  as  Tree  had  done,  killing  the  effect  of  the  scene. 
Fagin's  delirium,  in  the  prison,  was,  in  Goodwin's  per- 
formance, mere  screaming,  and  it  caused  no  other  effect 
than  that  of  noise.  The  make-up  was  good,  and  the 
performance  was  consistent,  evenly  sustained,  and  such 
as  might  naturally  have  been  expected  from  a  practised 
actor. 

A  presentment  of  Mr.  Carr's  version  had  previously 
been  made  in  New  York,  November  13,  1905,  at  Proc- 
tor's Fifth  Avenue  Theatre, — J.  E.  Dodson  acting 
Fagin,  and  Amelia  Bingham  appearing  as  Nancy.     The 


510  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

performance  given  by  Dodson  was  remarkable  for 
scrupulous  fidelity  to  fact,  in  minute  details  of  execution, 
making  the  wretched  Fagin  painfully  actual. 

There  are  several  stage  versions  of  the  novel.  One 
that  was  used  by  prominent  actors  in  America  when 
the  subject  was  new  to  our  Theatre  was  from  the  pen 
of  George  Almar — of  which  Dickens  said  that  it  was 
contemptibly  bad. 

A  version  by  John  Oxenford,  distinguished  in  his  day 
as  the  dramatic  critic  of  "The  London  Times,"  was  pro- 
duced at  the  St.  James  Theatre,  London,  in  April,  1868, 
with  Henry  Irving  as  Sikes,  Nelly  Moore  as  Nancy, 
and  John  Lawrence  Toole  as  the  Artful  Dodger.  That 
version  had  been  specially  licensed.  A  condensation 
of  it  was  subsequently  made,  for  Toole,  and  that  fine 
comedian,  one  of  the  tenderest  and  drollest  spirits  of 
his  time,  appearing  as  the  Dodger,  used  it  for  many 
years.  In  New  York  a  version  made  by  Joseph  Jeffer- 
son ( Rip  Van  Winkle)  was  acted  at  the  Winter  Garden 
Theatre  on  Februarjr  2,  1860.  That  production  I  saw, 
and  I  was  profoundly  impressed  by  the  performance  of 
it.  Matilda  Heron  impersonated  Nancy,  and  she  was  in 
her  element.  That  actress  particularly  liked  to  portray 
the  struggle  between  the  passion  which  degrades  and 
the  aspiration  which  exalts,  and  her  method,  at  all  times 
"natural," — using  literal  means  to  a  literal  end, — was, 
in  her  performance  of  Nancy,  completely  unrestrained. 
Miss  Heron  did  not  possess  either  the  massive  person- 


"OLIVER    TWIST"  517 

ality  or  the  art  of  her  illustrious  predecessor  Charlotte 
Cushman  (who  first  acted  Nancy  in  1839),  but  she 
possessed  a  strange,  wild  beauty  and  an  intensely  pas- 
sionate temperament,  and  she  could  let  herself  go — which, 
as  Nancy,  she  did.  George  Clifford  Jordan  appeared  as 
Sikes,  but  his  simulation  of  brutality  was  not  convincing. 
James  William  Wallack,  the  Younger,  was  the  Fagin. 
A  touching  semblance  of  Oliver  was  provided  by  the 
pretty  and  interesting  lone  Burke  (she  was  the  adopted 
daughter  of  Charles  St.  Thomas  Burke,  Joseph  Jef- 
ferson's half-brother,  who  married  her  mother,  Mrs. 
Sutherland).  Tom  Johnson,  a  clever  young  comedian, 
who  died  all  too  soon  for  his  fame  and  the  public  grati- 
fication, made  a  hit  as  the  Artful  Dodger,  and  a  thor- 
oughly correct  and  exceedingly  ludicrous  and  amusing 
image  of  Bumble  was  set  forth  by  George  Holland, 
the  Elder. 

The  parts  in  the  play  in  which  various  actors  have 
from  time  to  time  acquired  distinction  are  Fagin,  Sikes, 
Nancy,  Bumble,  the  Artful  Dodger,  Charley  Bates, 
Mrs.  Corney,  and  Oliver.  Among  the  performers  con- 
spicuously associated  in  America  with  the  part  of  Sikes 
are  Charles  R.  Thorne,  Sr.,  who  was  the  original,  at 
the  Franklin  Theatre;  Peter  Richings,  John  Dyott, 
Charles  Fisher,  George  Clifford  Jordan,  George  C. 
Boniface,  Edward  L.  Davenport,  John  B.  Studley, 
Louis  James,  Louis  Aldrich,  McKee  Rankin,  and  Charles 
Barron.     Names,  aside  from  that  of  the  brilliant  Wal- 


518  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

luck,  which  recur  to  memory  in  association  with  Fagin 
are  W.  H.  Whalley,  Charles  Fisher,  McKee  Rankin, 
H.  C.  Carleton,  and  J.  E.  Dodson.  (James  W.  Wal- 
lack,  the  Younger,  is  generally  designated  "Jr.";  that 
is  incorrect;  he  was  the  son  of  Henry  Wallack  and 
nephew  of  James  William  Wallack,  the  Elder — who 
was  the  father  of  Lester.)  The  first  American  Nancy 
was  Mrs.  W.  R.  Blake  (Caroline  Placide),  and  the 
catalogue  of  her  successors  includes,  among  others,  the 
names  of  Charlotte  Cushman,  Fanny  Wallack,  Mrs.  G. 
W.  Jones,  Mrs.  G.  C.  Howard,  Helen  Western,  Lucille 
Western,  Fanny  Morant,  Annie  Clarke,  Rose  Eytinge, 
Fanny  Davenport,  Elita  Proctor  Otis,  and  Nance 
O'Neill. 

It  was,  in  her  time,  the  consensus  of  judicious  opinion 
that  the  first  distinctive  and  decisive  "hit"  made  by 
Charlotte  Cushman  was  made  in  the  character  of  Nancy. 
That  great  actress,  notwithstanding  her  fine  intellect, 
her  imagination,  and  her  sensibility,  could  be  exceedingly 
literal,  and  in  that  part  she  was  so.  She  cast  aside 
refinement.  She  simulated  exactly  the  coarse  manner 
and  the  vitiated  nature  of  the  wretched  drab,  yet  at  the 
same  time  she  exhibited  the  passionate,  inflexible  fidelity 
of  an  intrinsically  good  and  loving  heart.  It  scarcely 
need  be  said, — certainly  it  is  needless  to  those  who 
remember  her  as  Queen  Katharine,  Lady  Macbeth,  and 
Mrs.  Holler, — that  Charlotte  Cushman  possessed  a  deep 
heart   and   a   wonderful   power  to   affect   the   emotions. 


'OLIVER    TWIST"  519 

Her  exhibition  of  the  innate  goodness  of  Nancy  was 
unspeakably  touching.  The  defect  in  her  performance 
was  an  unconscious,  unavoidable  one — the  revelation  of 
a  colossal  spirit,  an  overwhelming  force  of  character 
that  in  life  would  have  raised  her  above  the  circum- 
stances and  persons  associated  with  her  and  would  have 
dominated  them  all. 

It  is  recorded  by  the  brilliant  comedian  Charles 
Mathews,  one  of  the  greatest  of  artists  and  one  thor- 
oughly conversant  with  the  complex  subject  of  dramatic 
art,  that  when,  after  long  absence  from  the  stage, 
Charles  Kemble  reappeared  and  gave  a  few  perform- 
ances in  London,  by  royal  command,  the  audience  was 
"astounded  by  the  perfection  of  his  art,"  that  he  was 
"a  Triton  among  minnows,"  and  that  "all  the  sucking 
Mercutios,  Don  Felixes,  and  Charles  Surfaces  had  to 
hide  their  diminished  heads."  "Let  us  have  faith," 
exclaimed  Mathews,  "that  the  great  names  which  have 
been  handed  down  to  us  were  not  achieved  without  good 
reason."  I  am  very  far  from  being  laudator  temporis 
acti  (I  can  truthfully,  and  ruefully,  claim  to  have  seen 
more  bad  actors  than  any  other  living  man),  but  there 
is  not,  as  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  ascertain,  any  act- 
ing on  our  Stage  to-day  that  could  favorably  bear  com- 
parison with  acting  that  I  have  seen  in  the  drama  of 
"Oliver  Twist."  If  there  is  dramatic  art  in  the  peculiar 
field  indicated  such  as  was  exemplified  by  Charlotte 
Cushman   as  Nancy,   E.   L.   Davenport   as  Sikes,   and 


520  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

James  W.   Wallack,  the  Younger,  as  Fagin,  I  should 
be  rejoiced  to  see  it. 

When  Miss  Cushman,  in  1861,  acted  at  the  Winter 
Garden,  in  a  round  of  parts,  her  embodiment  of  Nancy, 
which  I  then  saw  for  the  first  time,  was  given  with 
prodigious  effect.  The  theatre  was  crowded  and  the 
audience,  by  turns  moved  to  pity  and  thrilled  by  horror, 
received  the  representation  with  every  possible  denote- 
ment of  sympathy  and  approbation.  Miss  Cushman  had 
not  played  the  part  since  her  old  Park  Theatre  days  and 
she  was  heard  to  express  surprise  at  her  success  in  it. 
Wallack  acted  Fagin;  John  B.  Studley,  a  dark,  saturn- 
ine, but  essentially  amiable  and  genial  man,  whose  forci- 
ble style  as  an  actor,  apart  from  his  personally,  was 
well  suited  to  the  character,  played  Sikes;  William 
Davidge  gave  a  perfect  performance  of  the  pompous, 
asinine  Bumble;  Mrs.  George  Stoddart  was  interesting 
and  efficient  as  Oliver,  and  Johnson  afforded  much 
amusement  as  the  Artful  Dodger.  The  "realism"  of  the 
acting  of  Miss  Cushman  and  Studley  was,  I  recollect, 
afflicting.  The  climax  of  the  murder  was  reached  off 
the  scene.  Heavy  blows  were  heard;  Sikes,  who  had 
dragged  out  his  victim,  rushed  wildly  across  the  room 
and  disappeared,  and  presently  the  dying  Nancy 
crawled  into  the  room,  in  the  agony  of  dissolution,  all 
bedraggled  with  blood — a  horrid  spectacle.  That  was 
thought  to  be  "Nature" — and  so  it  was;  but  it  was  as 
repulsive  as  it  was  afflicting. 


"OLIVER    TWIST"  521 

Dickens,  partly  because  of  his  passionate  antagonism 
toward  social  wrongs  and  his  inveterate  resolve  to  expose 
them  and  promote  the  extirpation  of  them,  and  partly 
because  of  his  defective  taste — for  he  was  too  physically 
sanguine  to  be  mentally  fastidious — was  commonly  prone 
to  exaggeration.  Yet  no  person  who  has  visited  and 
observed  the  East  End  of  London  and  obtained 
acquaintance  with  the  shocking  conditions  there  preva- 
lent will  perceive  any  exaggeration  in  the  portrayal  that 
the  novelist  made,  in  "Oliver  Twist,"  of  the  squalor  and 
hopeless  misery  existent  in  that  section  of  the  metropolis 
and  of  the  vice  and  crime  there  engendered  by  want  and 
woe. 

The  slavish  devotion  of  Nancy  to  her  blackguard 
paramour,  Sikes, — bully,  ruffian,  drunkard,  scoundrel, 
and  ultimately  murderer, — is  not  overdrawn  nor  in  any 
degree  false  to  nature.  In  that  remarkable  book  called 
"Round  London,"  by  Montague  Williams,  Q.  C,  there 
is  this  passage,  recording  an  incident  that  the  author 
observed  on  a  summer  Sunday  morning  in  Sclater  Street, 
Shoreditch : — 

"Among  the  crowd  stood  a  young  girl,  of  about  sixteen  years 
of  age.  Her  face  was  terrible  to  behold.  Both  eyes  were  black- 
ened and  her  cheeks  resembled  swollen  pulp. 

«  'Why,  Poll,'  said  one  of  her  pals,  'how  the  did  you  get 

in  that  state?  Wot  cheer,  lass?  Why,  who  did  that  for  you? 
Have  a  drink,  my  gal,'  and  he  handed  her  a  pint  pot  half  full 
of  porter. 


522  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

"The  girl,  after  taking  a  pretty  long  pull  at  the  pewter, 
replied   carelessly: — 

"  'Why,  my  young  man,  of  course.  He  couldn't  have  done 
much  more  if  he'd  been  my  'usband,  could  he?' 

"  'I  shouldn't  call  'im  much  of  a  young  man,'  rejoined  her 
companion.. 

"  'Ah,  well,'  she  said,  'if  you  loves  'em,  Jim,  you  know  you 
can  take  anything  from  'em.'  " 

The  same  practical  observer  mentions  having  seen,  at 
the  London  Hospital,  a  woman  whose  jaw  had  been 
broken  by  a  violent  blow,  delivered  by  her  husband,  and 
he  adds  these  words: — 

"As  she  was  taking  her  departure  the  nurse  warned  her  that 
the  slightest  violence  on  her  husband's  part  must  be  fatal ;  where- 
upon she  exclaimed  impatiently,  'Ah,  ma'am,  you  don't  know  any- 
thing about  it.     You  see,  I  love  him  with  all  my  heart.'  " 

Among  the  early  American  performers  of  Sikes 
Charles  R.  Thorne,  Sr.,  and  Peter  Richings  were  espe- 
cially esteemed.  Richings,  in  particular,  was  considered 
excellent,  his  impersonation,  indeed,  being  regarded  as 
equally  meritorious,  for  fidelity  to  fact,  with  that  of 
Nancy  by  Charlotte  Cushman,  in  association  with  whom 
he  acted. 

In  the  minds  of  persons  who  have  closely  observed 
and  deeply  studied  the  art  of  acting  there  is,  I  believe, 
a  propensity  to  endow  great  dramatic  performances 
with  the  solidity  of  an  actual  substance.     Certain  great 


"OLIVER    TWIST"  523 

achievements  in  acting  that  I  have  seen  dwell  in  my 
recollection  as  substantial  objects,  and  several  of  the 
most  admirable  examples  of  dramatic  art  that  I  recall 
are  associated  with  the  representation  of  "Oliver  Twist." 
I  remember,  in  particular,  Edward  L.  Davenport's  per- 
sonation of  Sikes. 

Davenport  was  a  manly,  genial,  kindly  person,  of  fine 
and  scholarly  appearance,  as  little  suggestive  of  Sikes 
or  of  the  faculty  to  act  Sikes  as  anybody  could  be;  yet 
when  he  assumed  that  character  he  seemed  the  veritable 
embodiment  of  the  surly,  brutal,  dangerous  ruffian,  not 
merely  in  physical  appearance  (such  a  transformation 
can  easily  be  accomplished  by  any  experienced  actor), 
but  also  in  mind  and  soul.  Davenport's  whole  person- 
ality seemed  to  have  become  saturated  with  the  brutality 
he  portrayed,  and  his  personation  was  consistent  and 
without  a  flaw. 

A  single  instance  of  his  felicitous  artistic  treatment 
may  serve  to  indicate  the  whole.  In  the  scene  in  which 
Sikes  is  shown  as  convalescent  from  a  fever  induced  by 
wounds  he  had  received  while  attempting  to  commit 
burglary,  Davenport  was  ominous  and  bitter  in  his 
reproaches  to  Fagin  for  neglecting  him.  Sikes  is  eating 
voraciously  while  he  talks.  Nancy  comes  to  his  side  and 
kneels  there.  "I  should  'a'  died,"  the  ruffian  says,  "but 
for  this  'ere  girl,"  and  as  he  spoke  Davenport,  in  a 
seemingly  involuntary  manner,  as  though  the  brute's 
arm  were  obeying  a  blind  impulse  of  grateful  animal 


524  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

affection,  deep  in  his  sodden  nature,  pressed  Nancy's 
head  against  his  breast,  at  the  same  time  and  with  the 
same  hand  striving  to  carry  food  to  his  mouth. 
Obstructed  in  that  action,  the  brute  seemed  suddenly  to 
become  aware  of  his  human  weakness,  resentful  of  it, 
and  wrathful  with  the  wretched  creature  who  had  caused 
it,  and  he  roughly  thrust  the  girl  away.  As  long  as 
memory  endures  Davenport's  Sikes  will  live  in  it  as  a 
masterpiece  of  Hogarthian  art,  true  as  truth  itself,  in  its 
faithful  portrayal  of  a  horrible  type  of  the  possible 
depravity  of  human  nature. 

Another  performance  which  I  remember  with  mingled 
pleasure  and  pain  is  that  of  Fagin  by  Wallack,  often 
given  in  association  with  Davenport's  Sikes.  Wallack 
was  a  person  of  powerful  frame,  commanding  stature, 
and  peculiarly  attractive  and  interesting  aspect.  The 
reader  has,  perhaps,  observed  the  massive  dignity  of  a 
noble  lion.  Wallack  possessed  that  attribute.  He  was 
self-centred,  not  self-conscious.  His  features  were  regu- 
lar, his  eyes  were  gray,  his  face  was  handsome,  his  hair 
was  dark,  slightly  grizzled,  and  flowing;  his  voice,  in 
its  natural  tones,  was  strong,  sweet,  and  sympathetic. 
He  was  one  of  the  most  amiable  and  kindly  of  men. 
When  first  seen  as  Fagin  he  seemed  a  busy,  crafty, 
good-natured  old  Jew,  furtive  but  not  as  }^et  villanous. 
The  evil  of  his  nature  was  disclosed  little  by  little,  and 
throughout  the  personation  he  utilized  with  exquisite 
skill  his   sympathetic  qualities,   so  as  to  win   a  certain 


c 
- 


- 
- 


"OLIVER    TWIST"  525 

pity  for  the  miserable,  slimy  wretch  when  he  came  to 
his  frightful  end. 

The   manner   of   Wallack,    when    Fagin   is    teaching 
Oliver  how  to  pick  pockets,  was  at  once  droll,  benign, 
and  baleful.     He  caused  Fagin  to  assume  a  fatherlike 
manner, — to    become    an    eccentric,    benevolent,    elderly 
person,  of  genial  disposition.     He  trotted  up  and  down 
the  room,  having  a  silk  handkerchief  in  the  tail  pocket 
of  his  coat,  which  Oliver  had  been  told  to  snatch  without 
attracting  its  owner's  attention,  and  when  he  said,  "I'm 
a  nice  leetle  banker,  an'   I'm  agoin'  to  the  city,  an'   I 
must  be  ve-ery  careful  o'  the  thieves,  for   I've  lots  o' 
mon-ney,"  his  voice  was  soft,  his  demeanor  playful  and 
ingratiating,  and  his  sly  assumption  of  vigilance  comic. 
The  nefarious  instruction  was  made  a  sport  to  the  poor 
boy,   and  his   failure   in   the  first   attempt   to   steal   the 
handkerchief  was  treated  as  a  joke.     Beneath  the  simu- 
lated kindness  and  levity  of  the  impeisonation,  however, 
there   was   revealed   to   the   auditors   a   grisly   spirit   of 
wickedness    and    cruelty,    and   that    spirit,    on    occasion, 
flashed   forth,    viperlike   and   frightful,   as   when   Fagin 
denounced   Nancy   to   the    murderous    Sikes.      Seldom, 
perhaps  never,  has  deadly  malevolence  found  such  con- 
summate and  hideous  expression  as  it  did  in  Wallack's 
acting,  at  that  point.     The  crafty  meanness,  the  relent- 
less   malignity,    the    seething    hatred,    and    the    blood- 
thirsty exultation  in  the  accomplishment  of  a   purpose 
of  revenge  were  indescribably  odious  and  awful. 


526  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

Wallack's  Fagin  was  more  massive,  melodramatic, 
afflicting,  and  dreadful  than  its  original.  His  portraiture 
combined  sardonic  humor,  heartless  cruelty,  low  cunning, 
the  hideous  degradation  of  a  burnt-out  sensualist,  avarice 
incarnate  and  shuddering  superstition, — a  compound, 
indeed,  of  all  vile  qualities,  skilfully  blended  into  a 
congruous,  possible,  exceedingly  revolting  character. 
His  acting  was,  perhaps,  most  deeply  felt  in  Fagin's 
final  scene,  which  depicts  that  frightful  creature's  con- 
duct in  his  last  hour  in  the  condemned  cell  and  Oliver's 
visit  to  him.  Fagin  was  shown  behind  an  iron  grill, 
frantic  and  awful,  rushing  to  and  fro  in  the  cell,  pray- 
ing, cursing,  and  raving, — an  object  of  dishevelled, 
seared,  haggard,  shattered  humanity,  shocking  to  see 
and  indescribably  piteous  to  hear.  A  low  nature,  incapa- 
ble of  repentance,  oppressed  bj^  terror  and  remorse, 
utterly  unstrung  in  the  presence  of  death  and  delirious 
with  desperation,  surely  was  never  better  displayed  and 
interpreted  than  it  was  by  Wallack  in  that  scene.  The 
skill  with  which  the  actor  contrived  to  diffuse  through 
Fagin's  ravings  a  suggestion  of  latent  kindness  in  his 
nature  and  to  make  himself  more  an  object  of  pity  and 
less  an  object  of  loathing  was  truly  superb.  It  was 
impossible  not  to  feel  sorry  for  the  poor  wretch,  ignomin- 
ious, bloody  villain  though  he  is,  when,  maddened  by 
terror,  he  seized  and  shook  the  iron  bars  of  his  grated 
cell  and  wildly  implored  "little  Oliver"  to  save  him — "a 
poor  old  man,  m'  tear!  a  poor,  'elpless  old  man!"    At  his 


"OLIVER    TWIST"  527 

best  Wallack,  in  that  scene,  could,  and  did,  stir  his 
hearers  to  the  very  roots  of  being,  and  his  achievement 
was  the  more  admirable  because  absolutely  a  work  of 
art,  premeditated  as  to  every  detail  and  carried  through 
with  that  perfect  intellectual  control  of  the  emotions 
which  is  the  decisive  evidence  and  crowning  glory  of  a 
great  actor. 

It  is  not  always  easy,  even  for  experienced  observers, 
to  discriminate,  as  to  an  actor's  personality,  between 
that  which  is  assumed  and  that  which  is  actual.  A 
reason  for  attributing,  at  least  in  some  degree,  the 
attributes  of  an  assumed  character  to  the  actor  who 
presents  it  is  the  fact — substantiated  in  experience — 
that,  in  many  instances,  actors  most  excel  in  the  exposi- 
tion of  natures  measurably  sympathetic  with  their  own. 
Yet  there  are  numerous  examples  of  the  consummate 
dramatic  art  with  which  the  most  genial  and  gentle 
of  men  and  women  have  made  themselves  seem  to  be 
monsters  of  depravity  in  the  process  of  theatrical  rep- 
resentation. The  fine  comedian  John  E.  Owens,  a 
man  remarkable  for  the  sweetness  of  his  disposition  and 
the  refinement  and  gentleness  of  his  nature — a  sure 
index  to  goodness — was  once  acting  Uriah  Heep,  in  a 
stage  version  of  "David  Copperfield."  A  friend  who 
had  seen  the  performance  begged  Owens  never  to  act 
the  part  again.  "I  saw  you,  John,"  he  said,  "and  I  hated 
you.  When  you  made  love  to  Agnes  and  tried  to  take 
her  hand  I  felt  as  if  I  should  like  to  kill  you  for  a  vile, 


528  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

sneaking  villain."  "No  greater  compliment  has  ever 
been  paid  to  me,"  replied  the  actor.  "It  is  most 
encouraging."  I  think  of  that  story  when  I  recall  such 
performances  as  those  of  Henry  Irving  as  Robert 
Mac  aire,  Charles  Couldock  as  King  Louis  the  Eleventh, 
Edwin  Booth  as  Sir  Giles  Overreach,  Davenport  as 
Sikes,  and  Wallack  as  Fagin,  and  remember  what  lov- 
able men  they  were  and  how  genial  our  companionship 
used  to  be,  in  other  days. 

It  is  not  possible  judiciously  and  without  qualification 
to  admire  "Oliver  Twist,"  either  as  a  novel  or  a  play. 
The  commonplace  and  the  brutal  are  commingled  in  it, 
and  they  make  a  sickening  medley.  But  parts  of  it 
are  irradiated  by  the  light  of  humor,  its  drift  is  humani- 
tarian, and  it  tends  to  diffuse  benevolence.  The  spec- 
tator of  it  is  reminded  and  warned  of  social  conditions 
that  cannot  safely  be  ignored  and  is  strongly  stimulated 
to  pity  for  the  infirmities  of  human  nature  and  to  prac- 
tical charity  for  the  wretched.  Its  "lessons," — to  the 
effect  that  crime  is  often  the  offspring  of  poverty;  that 
the  world  is  full  of  unmerited  and  inexplicable  misery, 
and  that  those  persons  who  can  help  to  regenerate  the 
vicious  and  criminal  classes  ought  to  do-  their  good 
work  steadfastly  and  with  ever  watchful  kindness, — are 
trite;  but  art  can  "touch  to  fine  issues"  the  tritest  of 
themes,  and  a  vast  deal  of  art  has,  first  and  last,  been 
expended  on  "Oliver  Twist." 


XVI. 

THE    PLAYS    OF    AUGUSTUS    THOMAS. 

It  is  the  province  of  criticism  to  examine,  analyze, 
classify,  and  expound,  with  praise  for  merit  and  cen- 
sure for  defect,  the  productions  of  artists,  to  main- 
tain and  apply  the  highest  standard  of  taste,  beauty, 
and  morality,  to  advocate  that  which  is  right  and  to 
denounce  that  which  is  wrong.  In  the  pursuit  of  that 
difficult  and  generally  thankless  vocation  the  great 
privilege  sometimes  comes  to  the  critic  of  recognizing, 
honoring,  and  perhaps  contributing  to  the  advance- 
ment of  genius.  That  privilege  is  afforded  to  the  critic 
who  is  so  fortunate  as  to  examine  the  best  plays  of 
Augustus  Thomas.  The  genius  that  is  manifest  in 
those  plays  is  that  which  intuitively  comprehends 
human  nature,  its  strength  and  its  weakness,  its 
temptations  and  its  trials;  which  sees  the  whole  vast 
current  of  humanity,  the  diversified  characters,  pathetic 
or  antipathetic;  the  blessings  and  the  cruelties  of 
condition;  which  discriminates  between  good  and  evil, 
being  aware  that  those  elements  are  strangely  com- 
mingled in  every  human  creature;  and  which  can 
seize   and   reproduce   those   points   and   moments   when 

529 


530  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

circumstances  long  fluent  in  a  hidden  drift  and  feelings 
long  intensifying  themselves  in  concealment  break  sud- 
denly into  view  and  become  motives  and  vehicles  of 
action, — that  being  the  one  absolutely  and  imperatively 
essential  constituent  of  drama.  The  fruits  of  that 
rich  genius  are  known,  and  as  time  speeds  onward 
they  will  be  more  and  more  prized  and  honored. 
Thomas  is  a  born  dramatist.  His  skill  has  been 
matured  by  study  and  practice.  His  motives  are  pure. 
His  aspirations  are  high.  He  has  accomplished  much, 
and  he  will  accomplish  more. 

"ALABAMA." 

For  the  purposes  of  a  dramatic  author  human  life 
is  to  be  viewed  as  a  river  which,  for  the  greater  part,  flows 
underground, — only  at  intervals  breaking  forth  into  the 
light.  Every  character  has  a  background.  Every  con- 
dition of  individualism  and  of  circumstance  is  consequent 
on  a  long  line  of  antecedent  facts.  The  dramatic 
instinct  perceives  the  points  of  contrast,  the  moments  of 
upheaval,  will-conflict,  action, — and  a  true  dramatist 
shows  human  beings  and  human  life  as  Fate  shows 
them.  His  talent  is  not  that  of  the  novelist,  which 
must  take  note  of  every  detail.  It  eliminates.  The  per- 
fect play  can  be  likened  to  the  new  moon, — a  clear  and 
brilliant  crescent,  with  the  rest  of  the  orb,  dark  but  per- 
fectly defined,  in  its  arms.  Your  gaze  is  riveted  by 
the   superb   sickle  of  light,   but   at   the   same   time  you 


PLAYS    OF    AUGUSTUS    THOMAS       531 

comprehend  the  whole  planet.  Thomas's  lovely  play  of 
"Alabama,"  first  acted  on  April  1,  1891,  at  the  Madi- 
son Square  Theatre,  New  York,  exemplifies  that 
truth,  the  author  being  possessed  of  the  rare  faculty  of 
depicting  human  life  not  in  picture  but  in  action.  The 
dramatist, — purposing  to  tell  a  story  about  a  gallant 
soldier  whom  the  chances  of  war  had  separated  from 
his  wife,  who  subsequently  had  died  in  giving  birth 
to  their  child,  of  whose  birth  he  had  long  remained 
in  ignorance, — wrought  in  such  a  way  as  to  allow 
essential  incidents  to  reveal  themselves  in  the  light  of 
dramatic  contrast,  as  they  would  naturally  do  in  actual 
life.  Probability  was  not  scrupulously  considered.  It 
is  not  probable  that  the  husband  and  wife,  Henry  Pres- 
ton and  Mildred  Fairfax,  true  lovers  and  strong  char- 
acters, would  have  submitted  to  be  separated;  nor  that 
either  of  them,  when  they  had  been  separated,  would 
marry;  nor  that  Henry  Preston  would  have  remained 
for  eighteen  years  in  ignorance  of  the  birth  of  their 
child;  nor  that,  loving  his  father,  Henry  Preston  would 
have  remained,  all  that  time,  in  exile  from  that  father's 
presence  and  from  the  old  home,  no  matter  what  causes 
of  estrangement  might  have  existed:  and  yet, — so 
strangely  is  truth  at  variance  with  likelihood  in  human 
life, — all  those  things  were  possible.  The  dramatist 
deemed  them  essential  to  his  purpose,  assumed  them  to 
be  facts,  and  built  on  them.  His  story  is  acted,  not 
related.      It    is    romantic,    it    commingles    humor    and 


532  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

pathos,  and  it  imparts  high  ideals  of  character  and 
conduct.  The  persons  in  it  are  distinctly  individualized. 
The  style  of  it  is  clear  and  crisp,  and  it  possesses  in  a 
high  degree  the  delightful  quality  of  dramatic  sug- 
gestiveness. 

The  South  is  the  more  picturesque  part  of  the  Ameri- 
can Republic.  The  old  social  order  at  the  South  was  more 
romantic,  pictorial,  and  interesting  than  any  social  order 
at  the  North  is  now  or  ever  has  been.  Thomas  chose 
wisely  in  choosing  a  Southern  plantation  for  the  scene 
of  his  play.  Much  is  dependent  on  climate,  because 
climate  affects  character  and  manners  as  well  as  atmos- 
phere and  foliage.  The  investiture  of  the  piece  was 
delicious.  You  could  see  the  large  stars  hanging  in  the 
deep,  dark  sky;  the  still  streamers  of  gray  moss,  and 
the  great  fans  of  palm,  and  you  could  smell  the  scent 
of  magnolia  on  the  faint  evening  breeze.  The  persons 
charmed  by  languor  of  repose.  The  purpose  was  to 
set  the  easy,  indolent,  drifting  temperament  of  the 
South  in  sharp  contrast  with  the  alert,  expeditious, 
enterprising  energy  of  the  North.  The  social  com- 
plexities, individual  alienations,  and  changes  and  sor- 
rows resultant  on  the  Civil  War  were  skilfully  made 
a  background  for  the  picture.  The  haze  of  time  has 
settled  over  that  lamentable  period  in  American  history, 
and  since  it  has  grown  more  and  more  interesting  in  the 
retrospect  it  can  be  contemplated  without  rancor.  The 
play  of  "Alabama"  treats  it  fairly,  indicating  without 


PLAYS   OF    AUGUSTUS   THOMAS      533 

either  partisan  motive  or  aggressive  morality  the  com- 
munity of  interest  that  should  bind  all  sections  of  the 
Republic  into  one  nation.  Colonel  Preston  and  his  son 
Henry  represent  the  two  divisions  of  the  land,  and 
when  at  last  they  are  reconciled  their  union  points  an 
obvious  moral.  The  play  is  ardent  with  feeling,  deftly 
elicited  by  the  simple  expedient  of  placing  its  chief 
characters  in  circumstances  credibly  pathetic. 

"Alabama"  was  produced  with  a  cast  which  included 
several  of  the  ablest  and  most  accomplished  and  interest- 
ing actors  of  the  period, — James  Huddart  Stoddart, 
Edmund  Milton  Holland,  Maurice  Barrymore,  Richard 
Fox,  Charles  L.  Harris,  and  May  Brookyn. 

"COLONEL  CARTER  OF  CARTERSVILLE." 

The  character  of  Colonel  Carter,  which  is  deftly 
depicted  in  a  story  bearing  that  name,  by  F.  Hopkinson 
Smith,  published  in  1891,  possesses  the  blended  charms 
of  simplicity,  sweetness,  and  eccentric  humor, — a  soft 
enchantment,  such  as  long  has  endeared,  and  will  always 
endear,  the  kindred  characters  of  Parson  Adams,  Uncle 
Toby,  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley,  and  Colonel  Newcome. 
To  know  such  a  man  as  Colonel  Carter  would  be  to 
possess  the  privilege  of  associations  at  once  cheering 
and  humorous.  There  are  persons  who  never  see  objects 
precisely  as  they  are, — persons  to  whose  vision  every 
fact  becomes  transfigured  by  fancy.  Colonel  Carter  is 
not   an  adventurer,   yet  he   undertakes   to   live  a   prac- 


534,  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

tical  life  in  a  world  of  dreams,  or,  which  is  the  same 
thing,  a  dream  life  in  a  world  of  fact, — and  he  succeeds 
in  doing  so  because,  being  a  charming  eccentricity,  he  is 
also  true.  The  insincere  man  who  should  pursue  Colonel 
Carter  s  course  would  speedily  come  to  ruin.  It  is  the 
fortunate  prerogative  of  goodness  to  command  the  respect 
of  both  good  and  evil.  Human  nature  is  sufficiently 
defective,  but  it  has  gentleness  for  that  which  is  gentle, 
and  it  has  affection  for  that  which  is  simple,  noble, 
affectionate,  and  kind.  Those  epithets  describe  Colonel 
Carter. 

The  play  that  Thomas  made,  on  the  basis  of  Smith's 
story,  was  produced  at  Palmer's  Theatre,  March  22, 
1892.  That  play  is  frail,  but  the  piquancy  of  the 
original  narrative  is  preserved,  the  incidents  are  adroitly 
utilized,  the  dialogue  is  simple  and  fluent,  the  sentiment 
is  sincere  and  unobtrusive,  the  action  is  various  and 
brisk,  and  the  spirit  is  pure.  Coming,  as  it  did,  at  a 
time  when  the  Stage  was  being  freely  used  for  the  dis- 
section of  turpitude  and  disease,  that  play  came  like  a 
breeze  from  the  pine  woods  in  a  morning  of  spring. 
The  dramatist  slightly  varied  the  scheme  of  .the  novelist 
by  adroitly  weaving  into  the  fabric  a  slender  thread  of 
amatory  romance.  Colonel  Carter,  in  the  play,  is  pro- 
vided with  a  young  female  ward,  and  is  made  to  fall 
in  love  with  her.  Men  who  have  become  elderly  do, 
sometimes,  feel  that  wound,  and  when  they  feel  it  they 


From  a  Photograph. 


In  the  Collection  of  Mr.  Holland. 


E.    M.    HOLLAND 
as 
Colonel  Carter,  in  "Colonel  Carter  of  Cartersville." 


PLAYS   OF    AUGUSTUS   THOMAS      535 

suffer.  The  girl  bestows  her  affections  on  a  youth  who 
loves  her,  and  the  Colonel's  apprehension  of  the  true 
state  of  the  matter  affords  him  an  accession  of  the 
magnanimity  which,  in  all  such  cases,  is  supposed  to 
provide  the  sufferer  an  adequate  consolation.  May 
should  not  mate  with  December.  The  suspension  of  the 
love  interest  during  two  acts  of  the  play  is  its  chief 
weakness,  and  it  is  a  little  impeded  by  detail;  but  keen 
dramatic  instinct  is  finely  displayed  in  the  general  con- 
duct of  the  plot  and  particularly  in  the  expedient  of 
opening  and  closing  the  action  on  the  estate  which, 
incidentally,  is  imperilled  and  redeemed. 

Scott,  who  anticipated  much  modern  reflection,  has 
noticed  the  temptation  besetting  every  seeker  for  novelty 
to  become  extravagant  in  order  to  avoid  being  trite. 
That  temptation  might  well  have  assailed  equally  the 
author  of  "Colonel  Carter"  and  the  actors  by  whom 
the  play  was  represented.  The  story  of  a  dreamer 
whose  dreams  accidentally  come  true  might  readily  be 
presumed  to  lack  zest  and  to  require  acute  emphasis;  yet 
neither  in  the  structure  of  the  piece  nor  in  the  per- 
formance of  it  was  there  any  exaggeration.  Colonel 
Carter's  cheerful  poverty  seems  the  flower  of  opulence; 
his  unconscious  bewitchment  of  the  astonished  and 
delighted  tradesman  who  calls  for  payment  and  does 
not  obtain  it;  his  feudal  attitude  toward  the  negro, 
Chad;   his   railway    project,    apparently   visionary,    but 


536  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

strangely  turned  to  unexpected  substance;  his  prepos- 
terous duel;  his  garden  in  Virginia;  his  amazing  and 
amusing  Southern  friends;  his  chivalrous  spirit  toward 
his  patient,  admirable  sister, — unostentatious  elements 
of  a  graceful  fiction, — all  are  deftly  blended  in  the  play, 
and  the  acting  was  harmoniously  simple  and  true. 

Edmund  Milton  Holland  (one  of  the  many  actors 
whom  it  has  been  my  pleasant  fortune  to  observe  from 
the  moment  of  first  appearance  on  the  stage)  imper- 
sonated Colonel  Carter  and  entered  completely  into 
the  soul  of  the  character.  Holland  is  an  actor  of  the 
school  of  Joseph  Jefferson.  He  can  be  fine  as  well  as 
bold,  and  can  make  the  condition  of  a  personality  as 
positive  and  effective  as  the  most  brilliant  stroke  of  its 
action — a  rare  and  valuable  felicity  of  dramatic  art. 
His  ideal  had  been  clearly  formed,  and  his  expression 
of  it,  alike  facial,  vocal,  and  locomotive,  was  vigorous, 
and  it  strikingly  evinced  the  excellent  quality  of  artistic 
repose.  He  held  every  "point"  just  long  enough  to  be 
comprehended,  and  never  reverted  to  an  effect  once 
caused.  He  manifested  the  precious  resources  of  a  fine 
mind  and  a  good  heart, — without  which  no  actor  will 
endure, — and  the  charm  of  a  whimsical  drollery,  thinly 
veiled  by  a  sweet,  grave,  demure  composure.  His  suc- 
cess was  decisive.  The  Colonel, — with  his  remarkable 
black  coat  that  could  be  adjusted  for  all  occasions  by  a 
judicious  manipulation  of  the  buttons,  his  frayed  wrist- 
bands,   his    shining    trousers,    his    unconsciously    forlorn 


PLAYS   OF    AUGUSTUS   THOMAS      537 

poverty,  and  his  unquenchable  spirit  of  hope,  love,  and 
honor, — was,  in  that  remarkable  performance,  a  pict- 
uresque, lovable  reality. 

"OLIVER     GOLDSMITH." 

The  most  illuminative  remark  that  has  been  pre- 
served as  to  the  character  of  Oliver  Goldsmith  is  a 
remark  made  by  himself,  to  the  effect  that  when  arguing 
alone  he  always  got  the  better  of  the  argument.  He 
lived  in  a  world  of  his  own  thoughts  and  feelings,  and, 
although  his  company  was  liked  by  many  persons,  he 
was  not  a  man  for  society,  and  he  did  not  show  for  his 
actual  worth  in  the  companionship  of  other  men.  He 
was  simple,  awkward,  almost  clumsy,  and  he  was  acutely 
sensitive.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  thought  that  his  extreme 
absurdity  of  behavior  was  to  some  extent  intentional, 
but  that  is  conjecture.  He  required  an  occasion,  and, 
as  a  writer,  he  always  rose  to  it.  There  are  few  things 
in  the  language  more  felicitous  than  his  dedication  of 
"She  Stoops  to  Conquer"  to  Dr.  Johnson.  His  "Vicar 
of  Wakefield"  and  "Deserted  Village"  are  classics. 
Boswell,  who  generally  undervalues  him,  has,  neverthe- 
less, by  mere  record  of  incidents,  shown  him  as  one  of 
the  gentlest,  most  transparent,  and  most  lovable  of 
men.  Dr.  Johnson  placed  him  in  the  first  rank,  .whether 
as  a  poet,  a  writer  of  comedy,  or  an  historian.  His 
genius,  said  the  Doctor,  is  great,  but  his  knowledge  is 
small.     "Let  not  his  frailties  be  remembered"   (so  wrote 


538  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

that   same  noble  and  tender  friend)  ;   "he  was  a  very 
great   man." 

The  droll  comedian  and  gentle  humorist  Stuart  Rob- 
son,  who  appeared  at  the  Fifth  Avenue  Theatre,  on 
March  19,  1900,  in  the  character  of  Goldsmith,  was  nat- 
urally sympathetic  with  the  part,  and  he  possessed 
many  qualifications  for  an  adequate  interpretation  of 
it,  not  the  least  of  which  were  sweetness  of  temperament, 
sincerity  of  purpose,  intellectual  and  moral  worth,  the 
spirit  of  a  gentleman, — born,  not  made, — and  a  quaint, 
homely  eccentricity  of  demeanor.  The  comedy,  ingen- 
iously constructed  and  agreeably  written  by  Augustus 
Thomas,  presents  Goldsmith  as  a  lover  of  one  of  the 
two  Horneck  girls  who  are  mentioned,  in  the  biographies 
of  the  poet  as  having  been  prominent  among  his  friends, 
and  whom  certainly  he  held  in  high  esteem.  One  of 
those  girls  became  Mrs.  Bunbury  and  the  other  became 
Mrs.  Gwyn.  There  is  no  evidence  that  Goldsmith  was 
enamoured  of  Mary  Horneck  or  of  any  woman.  Mrs. 
Jameson,  who  bestowed  much  expert  attention  upon 
"the  Loves  of  the  Poets,"  says  that  of  the  loves  of 
Goldsmith  we  know  nothing,  and  she  conjectures  that 
they,  probably,  were  the  reverse  of  poetical.  When  he 
was  on  his  deathbed  he  said  that  his  mind  was  not  at 
ease,  and  it  has  been  surmised  that  he  was  thinking  of 
an  unhappy  attachment  or  a  lost  love.  It  may  be  so. 
Everything  is  possible.  But,  as  he  died  poor  and  in 
debt,  it  seems  probable  that  his  distress  was  an  honorable 


PLAYS   OF    AUGUSTUS   THOMAS       539 

solicitude  rather  than  an  amatory  grief.  "He  had 
raised  money  and  squandered  it,"  said  Dr.  Johnson, 
"by  every  artifice  of  acquisition  and  folly  of  expense." 
It  was  legitimate,  however,  that  the  dramatist  should 
exercise  his  fancy  in  the  treatment  of  his  subject,  and 
he  did  so  to  a  good,  practical  purpose.  The  play  may 
not  be  credible  as  history  or  biography,  but  it  is  a  faith- 
ful and  touching  presentment  of  the  ambitions,  emotions, 
foibles,  vicissitudes,  and  disappointments  of  a  man  of 
genius,  and,  incidentally,  it  suggests  a  picture  of  that 
fascinating  literary  group  of  which  Johnson  was  the 
centre,  with  Burke,  Gibbon,  Sheridan,  Garrick,  Warton, 
Reynolds,  Goldsmith,  and  Boswell  ranged  around  him, 
giving  lustre  to  the  earlier  period  of  King  George  the 
Third  and  leaving  to  posterity  a  legacy  of  imperishable 
beauty  and  renown. 

If  it  be  true,  as  said  by  Dr.  Johnson,  that  the  great 
end  of  comedy  is  to  make  an  audience  merry,  Thomas 
attained  to  the  great  end  of  comedjr  in  this  play.  It 
interests  the  mind  and  it  touches  the  heart.  Robson 
was  more  effective  in  the  show  of  droll  eccentricity 
than  in  the  expression  of  tenderness,  but,  knowing 
that  true  love  is  always  reverent,  he  expressed,  with 
pathetic  fidelity,  the  piteous  endurance  of  a  noble  gen- 
tleman who  must  conceal  his  love  and  reject  .his  hap- 
piness, because  he  thinks  himself  ungainly  and  unat- 
tractive, unfortunate  and  poor,  and  because  he  knows 
himself   foredoomed   to   an   early   death.      That   is   the 


540  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

pivotal  idea  of  the  play.  In  Act  First  Goldsmith, 
flying  from  the  image  of  Mary  Horneck,  blunders  into 
the  country  house  of  a  London  citizen, — mistaking  it 
for  an  inn, — where  Mary  is  a  guest,  and  where  Johnson, 
Burke,  Gar  rick,  and  others  are  also  participants  in  the 
owner's  hospitality.  In  Act  Second  he  conducts  a 
rehearsal  of  the  comedy  that  he  has  written  around  this 
incident  of  his  personal  experience, — the  comedy  which 
is  then  and  there  named  "She  Stoops  to  Conquer," — 
and  he  strikes  down  the  libellous  scribbler  Kenrick,  who 
has  vilified  Mary  Horneck  and  himself  in  one  of  the 
dirty  journals  of  the  day.  In  Act  Third  he  is  arrested 
for  debt,  summoned  to  light  a  duel  in  Mary's  cause, 
vindicated  against  calumny,  and,  at  least  momentarily, 
blessed  with  the  open  approval  of  the  woman  whom  he 
loves. 

The  incidents  are  simple.  It  is  the  sweet  spirit  with 
which  the  theme  is  treated  that  invests  the  play  with 
charm,  and  that  ought  to  endear  it  to  everybody  who 
cares  for  beautiful  things.  The  great  literary  men 
of  the  Johnson  period  are  treated  with  familiarity,  per- 
haps distorted;  but  something  has  been  preserved  of  the 
feeling  of  the  Johnson  era,  and  something  has  been  sug- 
gested of  the  style  of  its  gentry  and  its  domestic  life. 
Indications  abound  in  Thomas's  text  of  familiarity 
with  Boswell's  "Life,"  with  Moore's  "Sheridan,"  with 
Washington  Irving's  "Biography  of  Oliver  Goldsmith," 
and  with  the  plays  of  the  eighteenth  century,  and  in  an 


PLAYS   OF    AUGUSTUS   THOMAS       541 

episode  relative  to  a  cabman  and  a  bailiff  tbere  is  a 
reminiscence  of  a  pretty  little  story,  published  about 
1899,  called  "The  Jessamy  Bride."  The  play  is  diffuse 
in  the  last  act,  by  reason  of  too  much  trivial  incident, — 
retarding  the  climax  and  tending  to  submerge  the 
pathos  of  the  close  in  a  rising  tide  of  farcical  nonsense; 
but  it  is  a  pure,  lovely,  ingenuous,  clever,  interesting 
play. 

"THE    WITCHING    HOUR." 

Superlatives,    generally,    defeat   their   purpose.      The 
word  "great,"  for  example,  has  been  misused  to  such 
a  degree,  in  relation  to  the  Stage  and  its  professors,  that 
it  has  almost  lost  its  meaning.     The   writer  who   uses 
that  word  should  feel  sure  of  the  propriety  of  its  appli- 
cation.   Thomas's  play  of  "The  Witching  Hour,"  which 
was  first  acted  in  New  York  on  November  18,   1907, 
at  the  Hackett  Theatre    (now,  1912,  the  Harris),  is  a 
great  play.     It  is  not  a  "lesson,"  a  sermon,  a  treatise, 
a   discourse,   a   debate,   or   a   clinical   diagnosis;   it   is   a 
drama.     The  word  "drama"    (of  which  the  significance 
often  seems  to  have  been  forgotten  or  ignored)    means 
something     done,     something    that     occurs     in     action. 
Thomas,  in  writing  this  play,  distinctly  and  brilliantly 
exemplified  that  meaning.     The  action  of  "The  Witch- 
ing  Hour"   begins   with   its   first   word   and   ends    only 
with  its  last  one,  so  that,  in  its  chiefly  significant  pas- 
sages,   it    could    be    comprehended    almost    without    the 
help  of  words.     The  subject  is  the  esoteric  influence  of 


542  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

mind  upon  mind,  an  influence  independent  of  the  usually 
recognized  means  of  communication.  That  subject  was 
not  new,  but  the  treatment  of  it  by  Thomas  was  novel, 
and  that  treatment  framed  a  drama  of  engrossing 
interest.  The  period  of  "The  Witching  Hour"  is  con- 
temporary (about  1900)  :  the  action  passes  in  two  rooms, 
one  in  Louisville,  Kentucky,  the  other  in  Washington. 
The  characters  are  distinct,  individual,  and  veritable. 
The  pivotal  incident  is  an  unpremediated,  unintentional 
homicide.  The  situations  are  essentially  dramatic,  occur- 
ring in  a  sequence,  each  arising  as  a  natural  result 
of  its  predecessor,  and  the  exposition  of  them  is  excep- 
tionally skilful.  The  treatment  applies  the  fact  of 
mental  communication  and  influence, — the  fact  of 
telepathy, — to  probable  persons  and  incidents,  and  the 
result  is  a  delightful  comedy,  touched  with  romance, 
which,  in  the  right  method  of  dramatic  art, — that, 
namely,  of  suggestion,  not  of  monition  or  precept, — 
imparts  ethical  significance  and  intellectual  pleasure, 
while  deeply  affecting  the  feelings. 

Jack  Brookfield  is  a  "gentleman  gambler."  His 
sister  and  his  niece,  to  whom  he  is  devotedly  attached, 
disapprove  of  his  vocation.  More  than  -twenty  years 
before  the  opening  of  the  play  the  woman  whom  Brook- 
field  loves  has  refused  to  marry  him,  because  of  his 
propensity  for  gambling,  and  has  married  another  suitor. 
She  has  a  son  and,  being  now  a  widow,  by  name  Mrs. 
Whipple,  she  returns  to  her  native  city,  Louisville,  Ken- 


From  <i  Photograph  by  Irani,-  Bangs,  \.  Y.         In  the  Collection  of  thi   Author. 

RUSS    WIIYTAL 
as 
Judgt    Prentice,  in   "The   Witching  Hour." 


PLAYS   OF    AUGUSTUS   THOMAS       543 

tucky.  Her  boy  loves  Brookfield's  niece,  and  is  by  her 
beloved.  Brook  field  favors  their  union,  and  he  looks 
with  disapproval  on  the  suit  of  an  acquaintance  of  his, 
a  political  office-holder,  named  Frank  Hardmuth,  who 
also  is  a  gambler.  Young  Whipple  has  inherited  an 
hysterical  loathing  and  insane  fear  of  the  jewel  called 
"cat's-eye."  At  Brookfield's  house  a  tipsy  youth  forces 
one  of  those  jewels  on  Whipple's  attention,  and  persists 
in  that  wanton  annoyance  until,  in  blind,  furious  terror, 
the  boy  strikes  at  his  tormentor  with  the  first  thing  his 
hand  touches, — a  paper-cutter,  made  from  a  heavy 
ivory  tusk,  which  has  been  left  on  a  table.  The  victim 
is  tipsy;  the  blows,  struck  heavily  and  wildly,  fall  upon 
his  head,  and  he  is  killed.  Whipple,  within  a  few 
moments  of  his  acceptance  by  the  young  woman  whom 
he  loves,  is  arrested  for  murder,  and  subsequently  he  is 
tried  for  that  crime,  convicted,  and  sentenced  to  death. 
The  hereditary  fear  of  the  cat's-eye  jewel  is  known  to 
the  boy's  mother  and  to  his  friends,  but  it  is  not  effective 
as  a  defence  against  the  accusation.  After  the  convic- 
tion a  point  of  constitutional  law  is  raised,  on  behalf 
of  the  condemned  boy;  the  trial  has  not  been  held  "in 
public," — admission  having  been  restricted  to  those  hold- 
ing tickets,  and  the  tickets  having  been  solely  at  the  dis- 
posal of  the  prosecution,  conducted  by  the  disappointed 
rival,  Hardmuth.  The  point  is  carried  to  the  Supreme 
Court  of  the  United  States.  One  of  the  members  of 
that  tribunal,  Judge  Prentice,  had  been  a  rejected  suitor 


5U  THE   WALLET    OF    TIME 

for  the  hand  of  Mrs.  Whipple's  mother.  In  his  youth 
he  had  fought  a  duel  because  of  her,  and  he  is  aware  of 
the  truth  affirmed  in  extenuation  of  young  Whipple, — 
temporary  insanity,  caused  by  crazy  horror  of  the  "cat's- 
eye"  jewel.  Judge  Prentice's  devotion  to  his  lost  love 
has  never  ceased:  he  has  remained  a  bachelor  because  of 
it;  a  personal  appeal  is  made  to  him;  at  first,  mistakenly 
supposing  that  an  improper  attempt  is  being  made  to 
influence  his  decision,  he  will  not  listen;  then  the  cir- 
cumstances are  truthfully  set  before  him;  the  point  of 
constitutional  law,  upon  which  the  Court  has  been  evenly 
divided,  except  for  Prentice,  whose  vote  has  not  been 
cast,  is  then  decided  in  favor  of  young  Whipple,  Judge 
Prentice  gives  his  testimony  as  to  the  hereditary  pecu- 
liarity of  the  accused,  and,  after  intense  suspense,  an 
acquittal  is  obtained. 

Concurrent  with  that  story  there  is  a  dramatic  por- 
trayal of  the  operation  of  mental  force  without  the 
usually  recognized  means  of  communication.  In  the 
First  Act  Judge  Prentice  calls  on  Brookfield,  with  the 
desire  to  purchase  a  painting  in  possession  of  the  latter. 
In  an  extremely  clever,  interesting  scene  the  possession, 
to  an  extraordinary  degree,  of  clairvoyant,  or  telepathic, 
faculty  by  both  Judge  Prentice  and  Brookfield  is  dis- 
closed,— a  faculty  of  which  Brookfield  has  been  ignorant. 
Hardmuth,  having  become  the  Prosecuting  Attorney, 
has  pursued  his  favored  rival,  Whipple,  with  vindictive 
animosity.     Brookfield  has  learned   that   Hardmuth  is 


PLAYS   OF    AUGUSTUS   THOMAS       545 

the  murderer  of  a  former  Governor-elect  of  Kentucky: 
the  infamous  Goebel  case  is,  unmistakably,  indicated, 
the  name,  indeed,  only  being  changed  to  Scoebel.  Dur- 
ing the  second  trial  of  Whipple,  at  the  supreme  moment, 
while  awaiting  the  verdict  of  the  jury,  Brook  field  has 
published  in  "The  Louisville  Courier-Journal"  his 
accusation  against  Hardmuth,  which  he  possesses  evi- 
dence to  prove.  His  double  purpose  is  to  influence  the 
minds  of  the  jury  by  means  of  the  force  of  thousands 
of  minds  simultaneously  turned  against  Hardmuth  by 
this  accusation,  and  to  prevent  the  nomination,  which, 
without  the  disclosure  of  the  murder,  would  practically 
mean  the  election  of  Hardmuth  as  Governor  of  Ken- 
tucky. The  jury  acquits  the  youth.  The  climax  of 
the  Third  Act  is  a  situation  in  which  Hardmuth,  des- 
perate with  defeat  and  rage,  attempts  to  kill  Brook- 
field,  rushing  into  his  presence  and  placing  a  pistol 
against  his  side,  but  being  prevented  from  firing,  and 
compelled  to  drop  his  weapon,  by  the  sudden  exertion 
of  Brookfield's  superior  mental  force. 

The  success  of  Brookfield  as  a  gambler  is  indicated 
to  him  as  the  result  of  his  power  to  read  the  minds  of 
other  players — he  having  believed  his  success  to  be  the 
result  of  honest  skill  or  the  ability  to  make,  as  he 
expresses  it,  "a  lucky  guess."  There  are  passages  in 
this  play  which,  for  loveliness  of  feeling,  have  not  been 
surpassed  in  the  modern  drama.  One  of  those,  in  par- 
ticular, is   that   which   ends   the    Second   Act,    when  old 


54G  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

Judge  Prentice  is  left  alone  and,  his  mind  directed 
to  the  past  by  the  appeal  which  has  been  made  to  him, 
wonders  whether  it  is  possible  for  a  living  human  being 
to  be  influenced  and  guided  by  the  spirit  of  a  dearly 
loved  person  passed  away,  and,  so  wondering,  murmurs 
the  gentle  lines  of  Bret  Harte: 

"The  delicate  odor  of  mignonette, 

The  ghost  of  a  dead  and  gone  bouquet, 
Is  all  that  tells  of  her  story ;  yet 

Could  she  think  of  a  sweeter  way?" 

There  must  be  great  delicacy,  rare  perception,  intrinsic 
goodness,  and  deep  sympathy  with  beauty  in  the  mind 
that  can  so  truly  see  and  so  delicately  portray  such  deep 
and  fine  feeling  as  is  revealed  in  "The  Witching  Hour." 
Some  of  the  incidents  and  devices  used  by  Thomas, 
since  they  deal  with  facts  and  theories  not  generally 
studied,  were  received  with  the  scepticism  and  dis- 
paragement usual  in  such  cases, — but  much  of  the  objec- 
tion was  the  protest  of  ignorance  against  truth  that  is 
new  or  not  understood.  As  to  the  subject  of  mental 
influence  and  communication,  independent  of  the  recog- 
nized channels  of  intercourse, — there  is  nothing  super- 
natural in  it,  much  that  seems  strange  being'  only  some- 
thing as  yet  not  comprehended.  One  of  the  chief  ele- 
ments of  power  in  this  play  is  the  steadily  dramatic 
and  effective  presentation  of  the  story,  regardless  of  the 
belief  or  disbelief,  approval  or  disapproval,  of  the  audi- 
tory as  to  the  suggested  premises  on  which  it  rests. 


PLAYS   OF    AUGUSTUS   THOMAS      547 

When  the  play  was  first  acted  in  New  York  the 
author,  speaking  from  the  stage,  said  that  he  would  agree 
with  those  who  considered  that  in  statement  of  the  fact 
of  telepathy  in  dramatic  form  he  had  been  "fairly  redun- 
dant." It  seemed  a  singular  attitude.  There  is  nothing 
redundant  in  his  play.  Whether  or  not  he  had  "a 
lesson"  to  "teach," — and  it  has  been  said  that  he  had, — 
he  did  not  mar  his  play  by  precept.  Ethical  purpose 
was  not  obtruded.  Ethical  meaning  can  be  deduced 
from  the  play, — and  so  it  can  from  the  fading  of  a  rose 
or  the  setting  of  the  sun.  But  the  ethical  meaning  is 
implied,  not  asserted;  it  does  not  impede  the  action. 
It  is  possible  to  portray  character  without  writing  drama, 
but  it  is  not  possible  to  write  drama  without  portraying 
character,  and  the  character  portrayal  in  "The  Witching 
Hour"  is  exceptionally  fine. 

The  acting  of  that  play,  when  first  produced,  was 
wellnigh  perfect.  John  Mason's  acting  of  Brookfield 
was  impressive  with  the  authority  of  intellectual  char- 
acter, repose,  and  consistency,  admirable  with  distinction, 
extraordinarily  fertile  in  suggestion  of  wide,  often  pain- 
ful, experience  of  life  and  of  the  faculty  of  close  obser- 
vation, delightful  with  artistic  finish,  and  deeply  sym- 
pathetic because  of  absolute  sincerity  and  innate  refine- 
ment. Russ  Whytal  as  Judge  Prentice—  manly,  tender, 
fervent,  distinguished,  with  an  occasional  flicker  of  the 
fiery  spirit  of  youth,— added  a  veritable  gem  of  imper- 
sonation to  the  galaxy  of  theatrical  triumphs  which  will 


548  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

always  be  treasured  in  memory.  George  Nash's  per- 
sonation of  Hardmuth  was  wonderfully  effective,  pos- 
sessing the  merit  of  conveying  a  something  of  amiability 
along  with  the  violent  weakness  and  repulsiveness  of 
that  character,  and  thus  making  credible  anything  like 
friendship  between  Hardmuth  and  Brook  field,  who  is  a 
man  of  unusual  intellect.  The  contrast  of  that  which  is 
serious,  even  tragic,  with  that  which  is  comic,  even  trivial, 
is  wrell  made  and  its  effect  is  profound.  It  will  be 
interesting  and  instructive  to  see  whether  "The  Witch- 
ing Hour"  will  stand  the  test  of  Time,  because  it  is,  in 
many  passages,  written  in  dialogue,  here  and  there 
colored  with  slang,  strongly  characteristic  of  its  period. 


"AS     A    MAN    THINKS." 

By  the  writing  of  his  play  entitled  "As  a  Man 
Thinks," — a  great  comedy  which,  in  many  respects,  was 
greatly  acted,  in  its  presentation  at  the  Thirty-ninth 
Street  Theatre,  March  13,  1911, — Thomas  provided 
an  occasion  for  earnest,  thoughtful,  grateful  praise. 
The  play  is  a  permanent  addition  to  the  practical 
resources  of  the  Stage,  whether  it  be  considered  as  a 
fabric  of  action  or  a  fabric  of  thoughts  and  words,  and 
the  influence  of  the  play  is  a  potent,  decisive,  far-reach- 
ing benefit  to  society.  The  purpose  of  the  dramatist, — 
a  purpose  clearly  shown  and  completely  and  brilliantly 
accomplished  in  this  comedy, — was  to  tell  an  interest- 
ing and  significant  story,  involving  persons  and  scenes 


PLAYS    OF    AUGUSTUS    THOMAS       549 

probable  and  representative  in  contemporary  social 
life;  to  set  in  a  strong  light  the  folly  of  a  main- 
tenance of  racial  antagonisms,  and  to  reiterate,  by 
felicitous  dramatic  example  and  by  the  vital  and  tre- 
mendous power  of  suggestion,  the  true  doctrine, — to 
which  he  had  more  than  once  before  expressed  devoted 
adherence, — that  the  welfare  of  humanity  depends  on 
the  diffusion  of  gentleness,  refinement,  a  forgiving  spirit, 
benevolence,  and  good  thoughts,  between  man  and 
man.  As  a  man  thinks  so  does  he  find  his  environment 
fashioned  and  colored,  and  therefore  it  is  of  the  first 
importance  to  him  that  he  should  think  rightly,  kindly, 
charitably,  and  well.  The  comedy  is  not  a  sermon,  not 
in  the  least  dreary  with  moral  platitudes,  and  it  does 
not  contain  any  cant,  either  that  of  virtue  or  that  of 
vice:  it  teaches, — but  its  teaching  is  like  that  of  Nature, 
insinuative,  subtly  influential, — and  the  spectator  of  it  is 
not  only  charmed  and  buoyed  by  the  spell  of  continu- 
ous interest,  but  made  seriously  thoughtful,  prompted 
to  a  kindlier  disposition,  touched  at  the  heart  and  ele- 
vated in  the  mind.  There  is,  in  the  mechanism  of  the 
play,  some  slight  enforcement  of  the  occurrence  of  inci- 
dents, causing  them  to  happen  fortunately  for  the  safe 
conduct  of  the  plot,  but  such  enforcement  is,  and  always 
has  been,  essential  in  a  work  of  dramatic  art,— a  work 
that,  for  the  purpose  of  brief  representation,  must  con- 
dense within  a  narrow  compass  feelings,  experiences, 
deeds,    and    events    which,    in    actual    life,    are,    almost 


550  THE    WALLET    OK    TIME 

invariably,  diffused  over  a  considerable  extent  of  time. 
It  would  be  exceedingly  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to 
name  a  better  example  of  expert  and  felicitous  dramatic 
construction  than  is  provided  by  this  comedy. 

The  picture  is  one  of  troubles  in  domestic  life,  and 
the  central  theme  is  the  terrible  passion  of  jealousy. 
The  place  is  New  York  City  and  the  time  is  the  present. 
Thirteen  persons, — eight  of  them  prominent,  the  others 
incidental, — are  involved  in  the  action.  Four  of  the 
eight  persons  are  Jews,  the  others,  theoretically,  it  can 
be  assumed,  Christians,  and  much  forcible  effect  is 
obtained  by  the  adroit  use,  respectively,  of  intercurrence 
and  contrariety  between  members  of  the  different  races. 
The  dominant  character  is  Dr.  Samuel  Seelig,  a  Jew, 
and  it  is  upon  this  character  that  the  dramatist,  while 
not  neglecting  any  of  the  subsidiary  parts,  has  expended 
the  utmost  wealth  of  his  thought  and  feeling  and 
laid  the  chief  weight  of  emphasis.  The  domestic 
troubles  are  represented  as  sequent  on  the  marital 
infidelity  of  an  American  husband,  Frank  Clayton, 
and  on  the  dishonorable  conduct  of  a  slippery  Jew 
bachelor,  Benjamin  de  Lota,  and  the  four  acts  of 
the  comedy, — which  are  tersely  and  pungently  written, 
— portray  the  progress  of  those  troubles  and  therewithal 
the  gradual  mitigation  and  ultimate  effacement  of  them, 
through  the  wisdom,  authority,  and  charity  of  the  manly, 
prudent,  magnanimous,  and  splendidly  balanced  char- 
acter of  Dr.  Seelig. 


PLAYS   OF    AUGUSTUS   THOMAS       551 

The  jealous  anger  of  Mrs.  Clayton  impels  her,  fool- 
ishly but  not  criminally,  to  place  herself  in  a  com- 
promising position  with  the  Jew  De  Lota.  The  jeal- 
ous anger  of  Frank  Clayton,  when  that  fact  has  been 
made  known  to  him, — the  medium  of  the  impart- 
ment,  ingeniously  contrived,  being  a  fortuitous  relation 
by  his  wife's  father, — causes  him  to  denounce  and 
repudiate  her,  so  that  she  leaves  his  house,  with  their 
son,  a  child  eight  years  old,  and,  temporarily,  finds 
a  refuge  in  the  home  of  their  friends,  Dr.  and  Mrs. 
Seelig.  Clayton  subsequently  learns  that  De  Lota  was 
a  suitor  to  his  wife  in  her  girlhood,  and  he  foolishly 
grasps  at  the  maddening  belief  that  she  has  been  false 
to  him  from  the  first,  that  De  Lota  has  been  her  para- 
mour, and,  in  fact,  is  the  father  of  her  child.  In  a 
scene  contrived  with  splendid  skill  and  conducted  with 
such  fidelity  to  nature  as  to  create  a  perfect  illusion 
and  cause  the  theatre  to  be  forgotten  Dr.  Seelig  is 
enabled  to  cause  Claytons  mind  to  be  disabused  of 
all  his  wrong,  wretched,  monstrous  suspicions,  and  is 
successful  in  reuniting  the  alienated  husband  and  wife. 
Meanwhile  Vedah  Seelig,  the  Doctor's  daughter,  who 
has  been  betrothed  to  De  Lota  but  has  never  entirely 
trusted  him,  breaks  her  engagement  and  privily  weds  a 
young  Christian  American,  Julian  Burrill,  an  artist,  and 
the  noble  Jew,  her  father,  is  thus  subjected  to  a  trial 
(the  marriage  of  his  daughter  outside  the  Hebrew 
race)    which  he  cannot  sustain  without  deep  suffering, 


552  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

but  to  which,  finally,  he  is  indicated  as  submissive,  in 
that  sweet  sincerity  of  benevolence  of  which  he  is  an 
incarnate  image.  It  is  not  by  novelty  of  thought 
that  Thomas  charms  in  this  remarkable  play,  but  by 
the  exceedingly  happy  and  powerful  dramatic  expres- 
sion of  it.  The  simplicity  of  the  story  is  not  only 
matched  but  exceeded  by  the  elementary  truth  of 
the  principles  which  it  suggests  for  the  conduct  of 
life.  "As  a  man  thinketh,"  says  Dr.  Seelig,  remember- 
ing the  precept  of  the  founder  of  the  Christian  faith. 
"There's  nothing  either  good  or  bad,"  says  Hamlet, 
"but  thinking  makes  it  so."  "Yesterday  is  dead,"  says 
the  wise  and  kind  Hebrew;  "look  forward."  "Let  us 
not  burthen  our  remembrance  with  a  heaviness  that's 
gone,"  says  Prospero.  "Let  the  dead  Past  bury  its 
dead,"  said  the  poet  Longfellow,  and  his  exquisite 
romance  of  "Hyperion"  was  written  around  that  admo- 
nition. The  whole  philosophy  of  Emerson,  which  revo- 
lutionized religious  thought  in  New  England  and  more 
or  less  broadened  the  mind  of  the  country  throughout 
its  extent,  is  grounded, — in  as  far  as  it  is  grounded 
anywhere, — on  the  central  idea  of  emancipation  of  the 
Present  from  the  burdens  of  the  Past.  There  is  noth- 
ing new  in  this  teaching,  and  Thomas's  fine  play,  in 
the  ethical  import  of  it, — even  in  the  bearing  it  has 
upon  the  institution  of  marriage  and  the  relation  of  the 
sexes, — only  echoes  truths  that  have  long  been  rever- 
berant through  the  backward  arches  of  Time;  nor  does 


PLAYS   OF    AUGUSTUS   THOMAS      553 

it  pretend  to  do  anything  else.  John  Mason,  the  prin- 
cipal actor  in  it  (whose  performance  of  the  Jew  has  not 
been  matched,  in  many  a  year,  for  power  of  feeling 
and  beauty  of  artistic  finish),  seemed,  indeed,  to  think 
otherwise,  for,  in  a  newspaper  interview,  he  said:  "Dr. 
Seelig  makes  a  point  that  has  never  been  made  before, 
which  is  that  the  whole  structure  of  modern  society  rests 
on  man's  faith  in  woman's  virtue."  The  speech  in  the 
comedy  in  which  that  declaration  is  made  is  an  exceed- 
ingly eloquent  and  fine  one,  controverting  the  impulsive 
assertion  of  an  excited  woman,  naturally  and  rightly 
resentful  of  the  injustice  often  shown  toward  her  sex, 
that  "this  is  a  mans  world/'  and  declaring  the  essential 
fact  that,  in  our  society  at  any  rate,  this  is  a  woman  s 
world.  But  the  thought,  among  English-speaking 
races,  is  very  old,  nor  would  it,  perhaps,  be  too  much 
to  say  that  it  is  as  old  as  civilized  society.  It  is  not  in 
novelty  of  ethical  ideas,  right  and  good  though  his  ideas 
are,  that  Thomas  gained  his  magnificent  stage  victory, 
but  it  is  as  a  dramatist,  making  a  grand  use  of  repre- 
sentative types  of  human  nature  to  enforce  the  ascer- 
tained principles  of  true  philosophy  and  instill  them 
into  the  public  heart. 

Many  dramatists,  from  Shakespeare  onward,  have, 
occasionally,  made  the  error  of  marring  objective  art 
by  the  impulsive  interjection  of  subjective  speeches. 
Thus,  in  Macbeth' s  soliloquy,  beginning,  "She  should 
have  died  hereafter,"  the  poet  suddenly  takes  the  place 


554  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

of  the  character  and  deftly  illustrates  the  evanescence 
of  human  life  by  the  figurative  example  of  "a  poor 
player  that  struts  and  frets  his  hour  upon  the  stage, 
and  then  is  heard  no  more," — a  simile  characteristic  of 
Shakespeare,  but  not  at  all  characteristic  of  Macbeth. 
Thus,  again,  in  "Rip  Van  Winkle," — sometimes  igno- 
rantly  disparaged  as  a  bad  play,  whereas  it  contains  many 
of  the  most  essential  elements  of  drama,  and  is  an 
exceedingly  good  one, — the  wistful,  half-dazed  vagrant, 
when  confronting  the  phantoms,  in  the  Ghost  Scene,  is 
made  to  ask  the  chieftain  of  the  spectral  group:  "Have 
you  any  dumb  girls?"  and  to  make  the  wholly  inappro- 
priate and  jarring  comment,  "If  you  had  some  dumb 
girls,  what  wives  they  would  make!" — the  paltry  gibe 
of  Dion  Boucicault,  but  when  spoken  by  the  awed  and 
forlorn  Rip,  trying  to  be  brave,  entirely  out  of  place 
in  that  scene  of  tremulous  mystery, — a  scene  almost  as 
weird  as  that  of  Hamlet's  visitation,  at  midnight,  on  the 
ramparts  of  the  castle  of  Elsinore.  And  thus,  finally, 
in  this  comedy  of  "As  a  Man  Thinks,"  the  pure,  sweet, 
gentle  Vedali  Seelig,  half  an  hour  after  her  marriage 
to  the  man  whom  she  loves  and  who  loves  her,  and  in 
his  presence  and  in  that  of  her  mother,  being  reproached 
for  not  having  delayed  her  wedding,  is  made  to  reply: 
"What?  Trust  a  sculptor  alone,  in  Paris,  for  a  year!" 
It  causes  a  laugh,  of  course:  "some  quantity  of  barren 
spectators"  would  laugh  if  the  girl  were  caused  actually 
to   flout   her   mother:    but   really    it   is   a   jeer   of    the 


PLAYS   OF   AUGUSTUS   THOMAS      555 

author,  in  a  momentary  mood  of  flippant  cynicism,  not 
the  answer  natural  to  the  lovely  girl  whom  he  has, 
otherwise,  delineated  so  well.  Such  blemishes  are,  how- 
ever, only  specks  on  the  marble,  made  the  more  visible 
by  the  surrounding  whiteness. 

In  John  Mason's  embodiment  of  Dr.  Seelig  the 
observer  was  aware  of  a  man  who  is  presented  to  con- 
templation not  as  acting  but  as  living — which  is  the 
perfection  of  an  actor's  art.  Dr.  Seelig  is  past  middle 
age,  and  his  experience  of  life  has  been  ample.  He 
knows  mankind  and  he  is  fully  acquainted  with  the 
ways  of  the  world:  he  has  been  superbly  educated:  he 
has  the  wonderful  experience  of  human  nature  which 
comes  to  a  great  surgeon,  and  which  only  a  great  char- 
acter can  possess  without  sinking  into  cjaiicism  and 
disgust.  Mr.  Mason  completely  identified  himself  with 
this  character,  and  there  was,  in  his  demeanor  and  speech, 
the  noble  dignity  of  inherent  virtue,  the  solidity  and 
poise  that  only  long  experience  of  life  can  bestow, 
the  restful  calm  of  conscious  power,  the  readiness  to 
meet  every  exigency  of  circumstance,  the  suggested 
capacity  to  endure,  the  wide,  multi-colored  background 
of  what  a  man  has  passed  through  and  learned  and 
been.  The  personality  was  rich,  calm,  sympathetic,  not 
demonstrative,  but  such  as  gains  respect  without  effort, 
obtains  obedience  without  severity,  and  prompts  reliance 
without  question.  The  reposeful  manner  of  a  physician 
who   has   been   long   in    practice   was    wonderfully    well 


556  THE    WALLET    OF    TIME 

assumed  and  consistently  maintained,  and  with  that 
manner  was  deftly  blended  the  ease  of  an  accomplished 
man  of  the  world.  The  natural,  seemingly  involuntary 
modifications  of  bearing  toward  different  persons, — 
toward  the  beloved  wife,  the  petted  daughter,  the  young 
artist,  the  elderly  Judge  Hoover  (who  loathes  Jews, 
though  a  little  inclined  to  make  an  exception  in  the 
case  of  the  Doctor),  and  the  unhappy  Clayton,  both 
as  friend  and  patient, — were  made  with  a  perfect 
sense  of  fitness  and  with  indescribable  propriety  and 
grace.  The  level  speaking  was  diversified  by  fine  in- 
flections of  tone,  sometimes  whimsical,  sometimes  play- 
ful, sometimes  mildly  satiric,  always  correct  and  ap- 
propriate, while  in  what  may  be  called  impassioned 
moments,  when  injustice  and  vice  are  to  be  rebuked 
and  virtue  is  to  be  defended,  the  actor's  vocalism 
rose  with  his  emotion  and  became  touchingly  impres- 
sive. In  Mr.  Mason's  embodiment  of  Dr.  Seelig, — 
because  all  the  attributes  of  the  character  were  compre- 
hended and  made  concentric,  and  because  the  free  and 
fine  expression  of  that  character  was  made  inevitable, — 
the  audience  saw  a  perfect  performance.  Also  it  saw 
a  brilliant  and  delightful  example  of  a  style  of  acting 
that  was  existent  in  a  former  period,  when  yet  the 
traditions  of  comedy  survived  whieh  had  been  handed 
down  by  such  actors  as  Henry  Placide,  James  E.  Mur- 
doch, James  W.  Wallack,  John  Gilbert,  and  William 
Warren.     That  was  the  period  in  which  John  Mason's 


From    0    I'linlininiiili    hii    Hull.    \  .    1 


In  tin    Colh 


tin    Author. 


JOHN    MASON 
as 
Dr.  Srrlii/.  in  "As  a  Man  Thinks." 


PLAYS   OF    AUGUSTUS   THOMAS      557 

professional  life  began;  while  his  style  in  his  own, — as 
that  of  every  artist  becomes,  when  fully  developed, — he 
showed,  distinctly  and  unmistakably,  the  fine  influence 
of  those  old  traditions.  He  gained  great  success,  and 
he  made  a  mark  which  will  long  endure. 


APPENDIX 
I. 

IBSENITES   AND    IBSENISM. 

"And  that  which  is  not  good  is  not  delicious 
To  a  xvell-governd  and  wise  appetite." 

— Milton. 

Consideration  of  the  dramatic  movement  in  America 
requires  that  some  attention  be  given  to  the  works  of 
Henrik  Ibsen,  the  influence  they  have  exerted,  and  the 
views  and  proceedings  of  those  persons  who  have 
approved,  advocated,  and  practically  participated  in 
making  them  known  to  our  reading  and  theatre-going 
publics. 

Henrik  Ibsen  was  born  at  Skein,  Norway,  on  March 
20,  1828,  and  he  died  at  Christiania,  on  May  23,  1906. 
In  youth  he  felt  the  rigor  of  extreme  poverty.  At  one 
time  he  was  apprentice  to  an  apothecary.  Later  he  was 
for  a  brief  period  a  medical  student, — facts  which,  per- 
haps, account,  at  least  in  part,  for  his  propension 
for  morbid,  clinical  subjects  and  for  the  pseudo-scientific 
medical  elements  which  occur  in  several  of  his  most 
widely  known  compositions.     In  1857  he  became  man- 

559 


560  APPENDIX 

ager  of  the  Norwegian  Theatre,  in  Christiania, — a  posi- 
tion from  which  he  retired  in  1802,  the  theatre  being 
thrown  into  bankruptcy.  In  1864  he  withdrew  from 
his  native  land,  in  high  dudgeon,  having  been  refused 
a  pension  from  the  government.  In  1866  he  produced, 
in  Rome,  his  play  of  "Brandt,"  which  was  accepted  as 
an  arraignment  of  Norwegian  morality,  and  the  govern- 
ment pension,  granted  to  him  in  that  year,  is  said  to 
have  resulted  because  of  it.  After  leaving  Norway  he 
dwelt  for  extended  periods  in  Rome,  Munich,  and  Dres- 
den, but  eventually  returned  to  Christiania.  There  are 
at  least  five  biographies  of  Ibsen  published,  in  English, 
— the  chief  being  those  of  Hjalmar  Hjorth  Boyesen 
and  Georg  Brandes. 

Ibsen's  first  play  was  "Catiline,"  written  in  1849:  his 
last,  "When  We  Dead  Awaken,"  published  in  1900.  In 
the  interim  of  fifty-one  years  he  contributed  articles  to 
several  periodicals,  participated  in  political  controversies 
and  disturbances,  sought  to  influence  social  development 
by  advocating  social  theories  which,  practically  applied, 
would  destroy  Society,  and  he  concocted  about  thirty 
verbal  fabrics  in  the  Play  form.  His  earlier  pla}rs  are 
sometimes  called  "romantic  and  poetical.'-'  Romantic 
they  are,  in  a  certain  degree,  because  they  mingle  wildly 
improbable  incidents  in  a  maze  of  extravagant  fancy 
and  tumid  verbiage.  Of  poetical  quality  they  contain 
nothing,  unless  it  may  consist  in  a  verbal  felicity  of  their 
original  form,  which  does  not  appear  in  the  translations. 


APPENDIX  561 

He  wrote  poetry,  however,  and  is  esteemed  as  a 
poet. 

The  chief  example  of  Ibsen's  earlier  writings  that  has 
been  made  known  on  the  American  Stage  is  "Peer 
Gynt,"  produced,  1906-'07,  by  the  late  Richard  Mans- 
field,— the  exertions  incident  to  whose  endeavor  to  vital- 
ize that  nonsense  having  hastened  his  untimely  death. 
"Peer  Gynt"  was  presented  in  many  cities,  in  1907-'08, 
by  Louis  James, — who,  also,  soon  afterward  perished. 
The  mortality  among  auditors  is  unknown;  presumably 
it  was  extensive. 

The  works  of  Ibsen  upon  which,  chiefly,  the  claim 
is  based  that  he  is  a  great  thinker,  a  great  dramatist, 
and  destined  to  exert  a  great  influence  on  posterity, 
are  his  "Sociological  Dramas," — the  more  prominent 
of  which  are  "The  Pillars  of  Society,"  "A  Doll's  House," 
"Ghosts,"  "An  Enemy  of  the  People,"  "The  Wild 
Duck,"  "Rosmersholm,"  "Hedda  Gabler,"  "Master 
Builder  Solness,"  "Little  Eyolf,"  "John  Gabriel  Bork- 
man,"  and  "When  We  Dead  Awaken." 

"Rosmersholm"  and  "Hedda  Gabler"  have  been  con- 
sidered in  this  work,  in  the  section  devoted  to  the  acting  of 
Mrs.  Fiske,  the  most  intellectual,  able,  and  influential  per- 
former identified  with  Ibsenism  on  the  American  Stage. 
Other  actors,  beside  those  already  mentioned,  who  have 
ventured  on  that  murky  sea  are  Helena  Modjeska,  Bea- 
trice Cameron  (Mrs.  Richard  Mansfield),  Kate  Reignolds 
Winslow,  Janet  Achurch,  Elizabeth  Robins,  Mary  Shaw, 


562  APPENDIX 

Florence  Kalm,  Ethel  Barrymore,  Alia  Nazimova,  Wil- 
ton Lackaye,  and  Frederick  Lewis.  Ibsen  has  found 
other  conspicuous  advocates,  in  America,  in  the  allied 
spheres  of  criticism  and  drama.  Those  whose  views  are 
most  germane  to  this  work  are  persons  directly  asso- 
ciated with  the  Theatre.  Such  of  Ibsen's  "sociological 
dramas"  as  are  here  to  be  considered  can  most  con- 
veniently be  examined  in  the  chronological  order  of  their 
important  presentation  in  the  American  metropolis. 
The  first  of  them,  accordingly,  is 

"A    DOLL'S    HOUSE." 

There  are  no  infallible  rules  for  play- writing,  but 
certain  principles  of  dramatic  composition  are  simple 
and  obvious.  Either  a  play  is  intended  for  the  Stage, 
or  it  is  intended  for  the  Closet.  Either  it  is  meant  to 
be  acted,  or  it  is  meant  to  be  read.  If  intended  for 
the  Stage  it  must  possess  action.  If  intended  for  the 
Closet  it  must  possess  literature.  There  are  plays  which 
are  good  to  act  and  also  good  to  read,  because  they 
contain  both  action  and  literature,  but  such  plays  are 
few,  and  whenever  they  are  acted  much  of  their  litera- 
ture has  to  be  cut  out  of  them.  A  complete  play, — a 
play  that  can  be  acted, — is  an  interesting  story  of  human 
nature  and  human  life,  actual  or  ideal,  delicately  exag- 
gerated, and  told  by  means  of  action  more  than  by  means 
of  words.  An  incomplete  play, — a  play  that  cannot  be 
acted, — is  a  narrative,  put  into  the  form  of  dialogue  and 


APPENDIX  563 

embellished  by  virtues  and  graces  that  are  solely  literary. 
"Othello"  and  "The  School  for  Scandal"  stand  at  the 
one  pole;  "Comus"  and  "Festus"  at  the  other. 

Ibsen's  play  called  "A  Doll's  House"  is  good  neither 
for  the  Stage  nor  the  Closet,  for  it  is  slow  and  tiresome 
when  acted  and  trivial  when  read.  It  contains  one  dra- 
matic situation,  but  one  dramatic  situation  is  not  enough 
to  animate  the  structure  of  a  three-act  piece.  In  1883 
"A  Doll's  House"  was  produced,  in  Louisville,  Ken- 
tucky, under  the  name  of  "Thora,"  by  Helena  Modjeska, 
who  acted  the  heroine,  but,  although  the  brilliant  talents 
of  that  actress  were  then  at  their  meridian,  it  was  a 
failure.  In  1888  it  was  tried  in  London,  under  the 
auspices  of  a  few  crotchety  writers,  and  there  it  gained 
some  favor  with  the  Mrs.  Leo  Hunter  class.  Since 
Beatrice  Cameron's  revival  of  it, — in  Boston,  October 
30,  1889;  in  New  York,  January  28,  1891,— it  has  been 
sporadically  revived  and  has  achieved  a  kindred  favor 
with  a  kindred  class.  A  few  superior  persons,  especially 
in  Boston,  have  declared  it  surcharged  with  superlative 
meaning, — such,  of  course,  as  transcends  the  comprehen- 
sion of  all  except  the  elect. 

In  "A  Doll's  House"  Ibsen  directs  attention  to  a  case 
of  domestic  trouble.  The  scene  is  a  dwelling-house  in 
Norway.  The  time  is  1879.  The  chief  persons  are 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Helmer,  who  have  lived  together  eight 
years,  who  love  each  other,  have  children,  and  are  in 
comfortable  circumstances.     They  have  a  male  friend, 


564.  APPENDIX 

appropriately  named  Rank,  who  is  dying  of  spinal  dis- 
ease, who  is  in  love  with  Mrs.  Helmer,  and  who  calls  on 
her  every  day  and  shows  how  foolish  and  pitiable  a 
man  can  be  when  he  is  infatuated  with  a  woman.  They 
have  a  female  friend,  named  Mrs.  Linden,  a  widow,  who 
drops  in,  from  time  to  time,  and  helps  Mrs.  Helmer. 
Mr.  Helmer  has  been  appointed  manager  of  a  bank.  It 
is  Christmas  Eve,  and  all  appears  to  be  well  with  the 
family  of  Helmer,  save  that  Bank  has  a  cough  and  is 
rickety  upon  his  legs.  But  there  is  a  skeleton  in  the 
closet.  Mrs.  Helmer,  at  an  early  period  in  her  married 
life,  has  secretly  borrowed  money  for  her  husband's  use, 
making  him  believe  that  she  had  obtained  it  from  her 
father, — and  she  has  forged  her  father's  name,  in  order 
to  obtain  it.  That  debt,  thus  dishonorably  and  dis- 
gracefully contracted,  she  is  endeavoring  to  pay.  But 
that  crime  of  hers  is  known  to  her  creditor,  Mr.  Krogstad, 
a  bank-clerk,  whom  Mr.  Helmer  has  discharged  from 
the  bank;  and  Mr.  Krogstad  threatens  to  tell  Mr.  Hel- 
mer about  Mrs.  Helmer's  forgery  unless  Mrs.  Helmer 
procures  his  reinstatement  in  his  official  post.  That 
reinstatement  the  frightened  Mrs.  Helmer  vainly 
endeavors  to  obtain.  Mr.  Helmer,  who. is  a  narrow- 
minded,  opinionated,  conceited  person,  insists  on  having 
his  own  way,  and  Mr.  Krogstad  remains  banished. 
Thereupon  Mr.  Krogstad  sends  a  letter,  which  is  dropped 
into  Mr.  Helmer's  letter-box,  wherein  are  stated  the 
facts  of  Mrs.  Helmer's  misconduct.     The  progress  of 


APPENDIX  565 

that  letter  toward  the  hands  of  Mr.  Helmer  is,  for  a 
time,  retarded,  the  means  whereby  the  delay  is  made 
constituting  the  one  moment  of  dramatic  action  that 
illumines  the  piece.  Mr.  Helmer  eventually  opens  and 
reads  the  letter,  is  astounded  and  enraged,  and  he 
announces  his  feelings  to  Mrs.  Helmer  in  terms  of  vio- 
lent asperity.  Mr.  Krogstad,  in  the  meantime,  has 
become  mollified  by  the  soothing  influence  of  Mrs. 
Linden,  who,  having  been  his  sweetheart  and  having 
jilted  him  in  earty  life,  has  now  proposed  marriage  to 
him,  and  he  sends  Mrs.  Helmer  s  forgery  to  Mr.  Hel- 
mer, and  declares  the  matter  settled.  Mr.  Helmer  is 
delighted;  but  Mrs.  Helmer,  much  displeased  with  her 
husband's  conduct,  declares  that  her  eyes  are  at  length 
opened  to  his  essentially  commonplace  character,  and 
that  she  cannot  live  with  him  any  longer,  and  she  termi- 
nates the  proceedings  by  walking  out  of  his  house  at 
midnight, — totally  regardless  of  her  duty  to  their  inno- 
cent children,  whom  she  thus  callously  deserts, — closing 
the  door  after  her,  with  a  bang.     That  is  the  play. 

"A  Doll's  House"  is  not  dramatic  but  didactic;  an 
essay,  not  a  play.  The  author  undertook  in  it  to  indicate 
a  necessitv  for  revision  of  the  matrimonial  relation.  Mar- 
ried  women,  he  declares,  are  dolls, — meaning  playthings. 
Married  men  are  a  combination  of  the  Turk  sand  the 
Prig.  Wives  are  not  allowed  to  possess  identity.  Hus- 
bands absorb  the  personality  of  their  wives.  The  female 
sex  is  subjugated  and  extinguished.     That  is  a  dreadful 


566  APPENDIX 

state  of  things,  equally  Tor  the  men  and  the  women, 
and  Ibsen  could  not  endure  it.  One  blow  should  be 
struck  for  feminine  freedom.  Women  must  no  longer 
be  brought  up  as  dolls  or  treated  as  playthings.  The 
woman  who  is  reared  as  a  doll  will  necessarily  behave  as 
such;  that  is  to  say,  she  will  lie,  and  steal,  and  forge, 
because  she  knows  no  better.  That  is  the  way  with  dolls. 
They  are  dreadfully  afraid  of  being  found  out  when 
they  have  done  wrong,  but,  at  the  same  time,  they  never 
know  the  difference  between  wrong  and  right.  Besides, 
they  inherit  things  from  their  diseased  ancestors,  and 
no  doll  who  has  inherited  anything  from  a  sick  progen- 
itor is  responsible  for  her  conduct.  No  doll  whose 
grandfather  ever  ate  a  pickle  could  possibly  help  falling 
into  one.  Judgment  on  dolls  should  be  exceedingly 
lenient,  as  long  as  their  husbands  are  Turks  and  Prigs. 
The  crying  need  of  the  hour  is  perfect  equality  in  the 
married  state.  Marriage  is  impossible  and  wrong  unless 
the  wife,  equally  with  the  husband,  is  acquainted  with 
the  Ten  Commandments,  and  no  woman  can  be  consid- 
ered a  human  being  whose  independent  personality  does 
not  at  least  tower  to  the  height  of  the  Revised  Statutes. 
Ibsen  was  firmly  persuaded  of  those  truths,  and  he 
wrote  "A  Doll's  House"  in  order  to  assert  them. 
"The  heathen  philosopher,"  says  Touchstone,  "when  he 
had  a  desire  to  eat  a  grape,  would  open  his  lips  when 
he  put  it  into  his  mouth;  meaning  thereby  that  grapes 
were  made  to  eat  and  lips  to  open." 


APPENDIX  567 

The  number  of  women,  outside  of  Ibsen's  perturbed 
fancy,  even  in  the  seemingly  benighted  Norway,  who 
are  capable  of  forging  the  signature  of  a  dying  father 
without  being  aware  that  they  are  committing  a  crime 
is,  presumably,  small,  nor  is  it  likely  that,  beyond  the 
limit  of  fancy,  any  considerable  number  of  husbands  and 
wives  are  able  to  live  together  for  years  without  in  the 
least  comprehending  each  other's  character. 

"GHOSTS." 

According  to  Aubrey,  the  antiquary,  whom  Oldbuck 
mentions  as  an  experienced  ghost-seer,  the  spectral  cus- 
tom is  to  vanish  with  "a  curious  perfume  and  a  melodious 
twang."  In  the  lugubrious  appearance  and  disappear- 
ance of  the  Ibsen  "Ghosts,"  at  the  Manhattan  Theatre, 
New  York,  on  January  26,  1903,  before  a  small  and 
sad  assemblage,  chiefly  female,  the  "melodious  twang" 
was  duly  furnished  by  Miss  Mary  Shaw,  and  the  "curious 
perfume," — as  of  a  dead  rat  in  a  dark  cellar, — was 
liberally  exhaled  by  the  play.  Moral  obliquity  and 
mental  failure,  sequent  on  inherited  physical  disease, 
resulting  from  sexual  vice,  is  the  subject  of  that  play, 
and  platitudinous  gabble  is  the  form.  A  youth,  by 
name  Oswald  Alving,  who  has  inherited  a  permeative 
taint  from  his  profligate  father,  deceased,  and  whose 
condition  is  verging  toward  some  unrecognizable  form 
of  mania,  is  shown  as  a  suitor  of  his  half-sister,  a  vulgar 
beauty  named  Regina,  putatively  the  child  of  a  drunken 


\y 


568  APPENDIX 

carpenter,  actually  the  offspring  of  Alving's  blackguard 
sire  and  a  female  servant.  The  devoted,  widowed  mother 
of  that  youth  is  shown  as  the  long-suffering  victim  of 
precedent  years  of  horror  and  of  the  circumstances  thus 
indicated,  and,  incidentally,  as  the  renounced  idol  of  a 
clerical  ass,  named  31  cinders, —with  whom,  however,  she 
signifies  her  willingness  to  cohabit.  The  climax  of  this 
noxious  postulate  is  the  collapse  of  young  Alving  under 
his  mysterious  disease,  and  his  afflicted  mother's  removal 
of  him  from  this  vale  of  suffering  by  means  of  a  poison- 
ous dose  of  morphine.  This  revolting  fabric  is  tendered 
for  public  approval  as  being  freighted  with  a  "lesson," 
and  it  has  been  accepted  and  extolled  as  though  it  were 
new, — notwithstanding  the  fact  that  centuries  before  the 
Prophet  of  Corruption  emerged  in  Christiania  it  was 
recognized  and  recorded  that  the  sins  of  the  father  are 
visited  on  the  children,  and  that  the  human  heart  is 
deceitful  and  desperately  wicked. 

Objection  to  this  choice  gem  of  decadence  has  sub- 
jected the  objectors  to  much  contumely.  Its  admirers 
announce  it  as  "tragic"  and  "terrific."  It  is,  in  fact,  an 
indefensible  and  shameful  vagary  of  a  diseased  fancy. 
Objection  to  it  cannot  be  invalidated,  because -that  objec- 
tion rests  on  incontestable  grounds.  Conduct  conse- 
quent on  disease  may  be,  incidentally,  admissible  as  an 
expedient  in  drama, — as  much  so,  for  example,  as  con- 
duct resultant  on  a  broken  leg.  But  exposition  of  loath- 
some  disease   resultant   from   sexual   immorality   is   not 


APPENDIX  569 

a  proper  subject  for  theatrical  display.  Furthermore, 
Ibsen's  presentment  of  it  is  not  dramatic  but  didactic, 
and  it  is  prolix  and  drearily  barren.  And,  finally,  his 
treatment  of  the  subject  is  distorted,  radically  false,  and 
misleading,  imparting  no  reliable  information,  but,  in  its 
totality  of  effect,  befouling  the  mind,  dejecting  the  spirit, 
and  doing  no  sort  of  good.  Thus  it  lacks  even  the  scant 
justification  of  being  a  sound,  scientific  clinical  treatise. 
For  those   reasons   the   work   is   radically   immoral. 

The  apostles  of  Ibsenism  are  continually  blarting 
about  "truth"  and  "frankness."  They  ought,  accord- 
ingly, to  be  favored  with  both.  No  reasonable  person 
doubts  or  denies  the  existence  of  frightful  "social  dis- 
eases." It  has  long  been  recognized  that  those  diseases 
work  incalculable  harm,  blast  thousands  of  lives,  cause 
suffering,  death,  and,  worse  than  death,  madness;  worst 
of  all,  that  their  consequences  often  fall  heaviest  upon 
unsuspecting,  helpless  innocence.  No  one  disputes  the 
need  of  extirpating  them.  The  day  will  come,  and  it 
will  not  now  be  long  in  coming,  when  authentic  informa- 
tion about  them  will  be  widely  disseminated,  through 
proper  channels  and  in  a  wise  manner,  among  all 
classes,  and  when  individual  cooperation  will  do  much 
to  eradicate  the  social  injuries  fluent  from  them.  Mean- 
time such  subjects  as  are  treated  in  "Ghosts"  are  pecul- 
iarly unfit  for  "discussion,"  of  any  kind,  before  the 
miscellaneous  theatrical  audience  of  both  sexes,  all  ages, 
and  widely  varying  degrees  of  intelligence. 


570  APPENDIX 

The  Ibsen  Drama  seldom  affords  opportunity  for  act- 
ing,— a  chief  reason  being  that  most  of  the  characters 
in  it  are  so  radically  false  to  nature,  so  entirely  arbitrary 
creations  of  the  author's  perverse  and  morbid  fancy,  that 
they  cannot  be  impersonated.  The  interlocutors  walk 
in  and  talk  till  they  are  tired,  telling  each  other  what, 
generally,  they  already  know,  and  then  walk  out;  and 
presently  they  come  back  and  talk  some  more.  Persons 
accustomed  to  the  stage  can  readily  perform  such  tasks. 
Miss  Mary  Shaw,  who  is  the  chief  performer  on  our 
Stage  of  Mrs.  Alving,  in  this  obnoxious  piece,  has  long 
been  known  as  an  actress  of  distinct  but  not  excep- 
tional talent  and  of  much  vigor.  In  that  part  she 
displayed  the  proficiency  and  repose  of  an  old  actress; 
the  ability  to  murmur  softly,  to  make  a  good  simulation 
of  middle-aged  maternal  tenderness,  deftly  to  employ 
the  stare  of  abject  misery,  and  to  speak  scorn  with  a 
nice  inflection.  Indeed,  Miss  Shaw  did  more  with  such 
a  word  as  "pitiful"  than  ever  the  sonorous  parson  did 
with  "Mesopotamia," — but  no  admirer  of  talent  could 
fail  to  grieve  at  seeing  a  woman  so  clever  engaged  in  a 
work  so  noxious  and  so  absurd.  From  the  beginning  of 
her  activity  as  a  theatrical  mentor  of  society  Miss  Shaw 
has  shown  signs  of  taking  a  more  serious  view  of  her- 
self than  anybody  else  ever  has  taken  or  ever  will  take. 
Her  purpose  in  producing  Ibsen's  "Ghosts,"  according 
to  her  published  proclamation  on  the  subject  (so  emi- 
nently  coherent    and    rational,    in    so   far  as    common- 


APPENDIX  571 

sense  can  appreciate  and  weigh  it),  was  "to  educate 
the  public  palate  up  to  an  appreciation  of  mankind's 
real  inconsistency,"  and  to  make  the  drama  "an  engross- 
ing form  of  instruction  in  the  vital  truths  of  life"; — 
those  vital  truths  being  that  "the  world  is  a  sordid, 
narrow-minded,  pinchbeck  little  world";  that  society 
wears  "a  grinning  mask"  to  cover  a  state  of  seeth- 
ing corruption;  that  the  weakness  of  humanity  was 
never,  till  the  arrival  of  Miss  Shaw,  fully  comprehended; 
that  under  the  surface  of  things  there  are  "awful  facts," 
and  that  "truth,"  when  "naked"  (as,  of  course,  it  never 
is  and  never  has  been,  except  in  the  plays  of  Ibsen), 
is  "a  horrible,  distorted  Hyde,  which  reflects  perfectly 
the  immutable  course  of  nature."  Such  a  purpose  of 
instructive  benevolence, — so  sane,  so  original,  so  suit- 
able to  the  Theatre,  and  so  likely,  when  prosperous,  to 
diffuse  so  much  comfort, — could  only  be  viewed  with 
the  homage  of  grateful  acceptance. 

"THE     PILLARS    OF     SOCIETY." 

The  candid  Scotch  clergyman  was  not  far  wrong 
who,  noting  that  King  David  "said,  in  his  haste,  all 
men  are  liars,"  remarked  that  if  the  Psalmist  had  been 
living  in  these  days  he  might  have  said  it  at  his  leisure. 
It  is  an  old  jest;  but  an  old  jest  is  often  more  apt  than 
a  new  precept.  Most  persons,  presumably,  are  aware 
that,  in  all  communities,  and  especially  in  strait-laced, 
provincial  circles,  there  are  moral  impostors;  sanctimo- 


572  APPENDIX 

nious  humbugs,  hypocritical  pretenders  to  virtue  and 
respectability;  in  short,  whited  sepulchres.  This  is  the 
very  alphabet  of  social  knowledge,  and  everybody  knows 
it — who  knows  anything.  Accordingly,  when  such  a 
puerile  and  elementary  composition  as  Ibsen's  "The 
Pillars  of  Society"  is  placed  on  public  view  in  a  theatre 
the  observer  can  only  wonder  whether  any  human  being 
will  for  a  moment  suppose  it  to  be  a  novelty,  or,  for 
any  reason  whatever,  think  it  worthy  of  respect. 

Ibsen,  according  to  this  attenuated  colloquial  plati- 
tude, "The  Pillars  of  Society,"  had  made  the  profound 
discovery  that,  in  some  cases,  men  who  pretend  to  be 
honest,  and,  by  means  of  their  deceitful  gravity,  and 
decorum,  gain  a  social  ascendancy  and  general  esteem, 
are,  in  reality,  knaves,  and  that  the  pillars  of  society 
are,  for  this  reason,  rotten  at  the  base.  The  Norwegian 
philosopher's  friend  and  admirer  Hjalmar  Hjorth 
Boyesen  stated  the  case  for  him,  with  some  emphasis, 
in  a  book  that  was  published  about  twenty  years  ago, 
declaring  that  the  Ibsen  mission  is  "to  drag  moral  ugli- 
ness into  the  light  of  day"  (there  being  so  little  of  this 
sweet  thing  anywhere  visible,  and  such  a  ravenous  public 
desire  and  need  of  seeing  specimens  of  it-),  and  that 
Ibsen  thinks  "morality  is  out  of  plumb,"  the  founda- 
tions of  the  social  fabric  are  "sagged,"  and  everything 
going  pell-mell  to  universal  smash.  In  "The  Pillars" 
there  is  a  loquacious  merchant,  Consul  Bernick, — out- 
wardly respectable,  actually  a  libertine,  a  swindler,  and 


APPENDIX  573 

a  scoundrel, — who  allows  and  contrives  that  an  innocent 
relative,  Johan  Tonnesen,  shall  be  a  scapegoat  for  his 
offences,  and  even  frames  a  plot  to  drown  him,  in  self- 
defence, — going  on  from  one  depravity  to  another,  till 
at  last,  suddenly  shocked  into  virtue,  from  having, 
as  he  thinks,  sacrificed  the  life  of  his  son,  he  publicly 
confesses  his  sins,  and  says  he  is  sorry  for  them.  That 
is  the  play;  and  its  only  parallel,  for  dulness,  must  be 
sought  in  some  other  of  the  prosy,  fatuous  colloquies 
of  the  same  tedious  author. 

There  are  wrongs.  There  are  abuses.  There  are  bad 
men  and  women.  There  are  infirmities  in  human  nature. 
"The  best  of  all  we  do  and  are,  just  God  forgive!" 
cries  the  poet  Wordsworth.  There  are  hypocrites. 
"This  is  a  wale,"  as  remarked  by  Mrs.  Gamp,  and  those 
who  "are  born  in  a  wale  must  take  the  consequences 
of  such  a  sitiwation."  But  society  is  not  for  this  reason 
radically  and  hopelessly  vitiated.  Even  a  Moral  Regu- 
lator can  sometimes  refrain  from  being  a  Bore.  Henry 
Arthur  Jones,  enforcing  the  same  trite  ethical  lesson 
urged  by  Ibsen, — that  fraud  is  a  rotten  basis  for  the 
support  of  character, — did  succeed,  with  his  play  of 
"Judah,"  in  making  and  exploiting  a  dramatic  plot  and 
writing  a  genial,  animated,  sparkling,  delightful  drama. 
But  Ibsen,  habitually  raking  among  diseases  and  deform- 
ities and  continually  alternating  between  trash  and 
platitude,  is  either  tainted  or  trivial, — usually  both.  His 
play  of  "The  Pillars"  is  made  up  of  prolix  conversations, 


574  APPENDIX 

the  wretched  tittle-tattle  of  a  provincial  town  embellished 
with  merciless  ethical  disquisition,  having  the  general 
effect  of  a  rudimentary  moral  treatise.  Some  of  his 
moon-eyed  followers  have  adopted  the  ridiculous  prac- 
tice of  yoking  the  Tnpper  of  Christiania  with  the  Bard 
of  Avon.  Alas,  poor  Shakespeare!  This  much  of  good, 
however,  comes  from  the  hare-brained  impertinence, — 
that  observers  are  reminded  of  the  contrast,  and  so  made 
to  remember  that  there  are  single  lines  in  Shakespeare 
worth  whole  hecatombs  of  Ibsen. 

"The  Pillars  of  Society"  was  first  produced  in 
America,  in  the  German  language,  at  the  Irving  Place 
Theatre,  New  York,  on  December  26,  1889,  with  Ernst 
von  Possart  in  its  central  part,  that  of  Consul  Bernick, 
and  it  was  first  acted  here,  in  English,  at  the  old  Lyceum 
Theatre,  by  pupils  of  the  Lyceum  Theatre  School  of 
Acting,  associated  with  several  professional  actors,  on 
March  6,  1891.  On  the  latter  occasion  George  W. 
Fawcett  appeared  as  Bernick,  Alice  Fischer  as  Lona 
Hessel,  and  Elizabeth  Tyree  as  Drina  Dorf.  On  April 
15,  1904,  that  robust,  sincere,  forcible,  and  expert  actor 
Wilton  Lackaye  revived  "The  Pillars"  at  the  Lyric 
Theatre,  and  appeared  as  Bernick.  Mrs.  -Fiske  brought 
it  out,  at  the  New  Lyceum  Theatre,  appearing  as  Lona, 
and  presenting  Holbrook  Blinn  as  Bernick.  Mr.  Lack- 
aye's  presentation  of  the  play  was  the  best  that  has 
been  given  on  our  Stage,  because  his  impersonation  of 
Bernick  was  absolutely  faithful  to  the  radically  stupid 


APPENDIX  575 

original.  He  had  the  necessary  frigidity  and  the 
requisite  hland,  plausible  manner  of  a  selfish,  self- 
satisfied,  successful  hypocrite,  and  he  expressed  effect- 
ively the  trepidation,  in  moments  of  peril,  of  a  scoun- 
drel and  liar  who  dreads  impending  exposure.  There 
is  nothing  more  that  can  be  done  with  the  part. 

"AN     ENEMY    OF    THE     PEOPLE." 

It  is  notable,  with  regard  to  "independent,"  "progres- 
sive," and  otherwise  "advanced"  stage  societies,  that  they 
customarily  "progress"  by  the  exploitation  of  freaks. 
One  of  those  societies,  in  New  York,  having  sought  the 
seclusion  of  the  old  Berkeley  Lyceum,  on  February  10, 
1905,  tackled  Ibsen's  treatise  on  the  rights  and  wrongs 
of  the  Minority,  called  "An  Enemy  of  the  People." 
That  is  the  only  presentment  of  the  play  in  America 
which  I  recall:  probably  it  has  been  performed  else- 
where, by  other  votaries  of  fog.  It  is  a  colloquial  rig- 
marole relative  to  a  case  of  imperfect  drainage  in  a 
small  town  on  the  south  coast  of  Norway.  Dr.  Stock- 
man, who  resided  in  that  town,  discovered  that  certain 
Baths  which  had  been  established  there,  instead  of  being 
medicinal  and  salutary,  were  poisonous  to  health,  through 
having  become  polluted  by  sewage,  and  thereupon  he 
wrote  a  newspaper  article  on  the  subject,  which  a  local 
journalist  promised  to  print.  Dr.  Stockman  s  brother, 
however,  who  was  a  local  magistrate,  and  who  owned 
a    pecuniary   interest   in    the    Baths    and    did    not    care 


570  APPENDIX 

whether  they  caused  illness  or  not  as  long  as  they  were 
used  and  he  derived  money  from  their  use,  persuaded 
the  journalist  not  to  keep  his  promise,  and  Dr.  Stock- 
man's article  was,  therefore,  rejected.  The  Doctor 
resented  this  cowardly  slight,  and  thereupon  called  a 
public  meeting  of  the  townspeople,  in  order  to  read  his 
essay  to  them,  thus  making  known  the  danger  of  using 
the  Baths;  but  his  opjjonents  took  possession  of  the  hall 
and  "howled  him  down,"  and  the  assembly  broke  up  in 
a  row.  Dr.  Stockman,  subsequently,  was  discharged 
from  his  town  office,  and  "boycotted,"  as  "an  enemy  of 
the  people," — the  prosperity  of  the  town  being  deemed 
dependent  on  that  of  the  Baths, — and  he  resolved  to 
open  a  school  for  ragamuffins.  Ibsen  has  told  this 
enlivening  tale  in  five  acts  which  have  the  sprightliness 
of  the  mud  turtle  and  the  agility  of  the  sloth. 

In  Robertson's  comedy  of  "School"  one  of  the  chil- 
dren, being  asked  in  what  way  the  people  rewarded 
the  public  services  of  Belisarius,  replies  that  "they 
deprived  him  of  his  dignities  and  put  his  eyes  out." 
The  man  who  tries  to  serve  and  improve  society  often 
comes  to  grief:  "the  property  of  rain  is  to  wet  and  of 
fire  to  burn."  An  instructive  essay,  doubtless,  might 
be  written  on  the  blunders  of  the  majority,  human 
selfishness,  and  the  absurdly  erroneous  postulates  that 
all  persons  are  born  equal  and  that  the  masses  of  the 
people,  simply  because  they  are  masses,  are  therefore 
virtuous,   wise,  and  infallible  in   judgment.      No   more 


APPENDIX  577 

monstrous  lie  has  ever  been  promulgated  and  accepted 
than  the  lie  which  declares  that  "The  voice  of  the  People 
is  the  voice  of  God."  Ibsen,  obviously,  was  conscious  of 
those  elemental  truths,  and  his  mind  seems  to  have  been 
distressed  on  that  subject  when  he  wrote  "An  Enemy  of 
the  People."  He  wished  to  announce  that  the  majority 
has  might  but  not  right.  In  doing  so,  in  this  instance, 
through  the  inappropriate  medium  of  the  Stage,  his 
fundamental  defect  as  a  dramatist, — vagueness  made 
tedious  by  verbal  prolixity  (aside  from  his  infatuated 
devotion  to  a  monotonous  and  unscientific  doctrine  of 
heredity), — is  obtrusively  manifested.  The  Regulator 
loudly  vociferates  that  "the  world  is  out  of  joint"  and 
seems  to  feel  it  a  "cursed  spite  that  ever  he  was  born 
to  set  it  right."    It  is. 

"MASTER     BUILDER     SOLNESS." 

Foggy  symbolism,  immersed  in  illimitable  prolixity 
of  commonplace  dialogue,  is  the  substance  of  "Mas- 
ter Builder  Solness,"  known  to  our  Stage  as  "The 
Master  Builder."  It  is  one  of  the  dreariest  fabrics  of 
the  crotchety  Ibsen  Muse,  being  a  shallow  "psycho- 
logical study,"  not  a  play,  and,  being  a  "psychological 
study,"  it  ought,  whether  shallow  or  profound,  to  be 
restricted  to  the  library.  To  find  a  parallel  example  of 
flatulent  obfuscation  the  student  must  seek  the  com- 
mendatory drivel  written  on  the  subject  by  the  crack- 
brained    Maurice    Maeterlinck.      The    reader    of    "The 


578  APPENDIX 

Master  Builder,"  if  endowed  with  patience,  might  derive 
from  its  perusal  a  certain  soporific  edification:  the  spec- 
tator of  it  is  conscious  only  of  being  wearied  beyond 
endurance  by  the  purling  prattle  of  a  group  of  nonenti- 
ties and  invalids.  The  method  of  the  author,  in  that 
work,  has  been  likened  to  that  of  Nathaniel  Hawthorne; 
but  Hawthorne  had  style,  and,  in  his  "The  Scarlet 
Letter"  and  "The  House  of  the  Seven  Gables,"  which 
are  representative  works,  he  revealed  imagination,  and 
he  provided  feeling,  atmosphere,  incident,  and  interest- 
ing character:  moreover  he  did  not  write  for  the  Stage, 
and  he  explicitly  stated,  in  a  letter  which  I  once  pos- 
sessed, that  he  did  not  consider  his  writings  suitable  for 
dramatic  interpretation.  Ibsen's  method  is  no  more 
like  that  of  Hawthorne  than  the  flow  of  sawdust  out 
of  a  bunghole  is  like  the  drift  of  storm  clouds  in  an 
autumn  sky. 

In  this  Ibsen  fabric  Mr.  Solness  is  a  skilful  and  suc- 
cessful architect,  past  the  prime  of  life,  and  likewise  he 
is  an  egregious  egotist.  He  possesses  "the  artistic  tem- 
perament," and,  as  frequently  happens  in  such  cases, 
there  is  in  him  a  strong  vein  of  sensuality.  "I  know  you 
have  known  a  good  many  women,  in  your  time,"  says 
his  medical  acquaintance,  Dr.  Herdal:  "Oh,  I  don't  deny 
it,"  replies  Mr.  Solness.  He  is  married  to  a  good 
woman,  whom  he  has  ceased  to  love,  who  is  a  nervous 
invalid,  patient  in  her  suffering,  and  with  respect  to 
whom  he  entertains  a  remorseful  feeling, — fancying  that 


APPENDIX  579 

he  has  caused  her  to  be  unhappy  by  wishing  or  hyp- 
notically "willing"  that  other  women  should  love  him, 
or  by  allowing  his  artistic  ambition  or  his  desire  for 
personal  aggrandizement  to  prevail  over  his  domestic 
affections  and  extinguish  them.  Such  a  state  of  mind 
is  chaotic, — especially  as  shown  in  an  Ibsen  play, — and 
it  cannot  be  clearly  designated.  "Goodness  knows," 
exclaims  Dr.  Herded,  after  listening  to  Mr.  Solness's 
tale  of  disquietude,  "I  don't  understand  at  all."  No 
wonder!  The  fact,  apparently,  is  that  the  popular 
architect  is  an  unsatisfied  sensualist,  corroded  by  vanity, 
yet  not  so  devoid  of  conscience  and  sensibility  as  to  be 
free  from  self-reproach  and  indifferent  to  the  ordain- 
ment  of  rectitude.  In  actual  life  such  a  man  would 
be, — as  in  this  Ibsen  talking-match  he  certainly  is, — a 
domestic  and  social  nuisance.  Morbid,  selfish  egotism, 
forever  brooding  on  its  sensations  and  forever  solicitous 
as  to  its  importance,  presents  about  the  sorriest  spectacle 
that  human  nature  can  show.  There  are  persons  so 
completely  wrapped  up  in  themselves  that  they  can 
believe  that  the  Creator  of  the  universe  bestows  constant 
personal  attention  on  all  their  proceedings.  About  the 
time  that  "The  Master  Builder"  was  obtruded  on  public 
attention  (by  Alia  Nazimova,  at  the  Bijou  Theatre, 
September  23,  1907),  a  New  York  clergyman,  of  some 
local  prominence,  bulged  into  public  prints  with  the 
statement  that  he  "smokes  tobacco  and  leaves  the  ques- 
tion of  the  propriety  of  that  proceeding  to   God," — a 


580  APPENDIX 

truly  gracious  condescension!  There  is  no  limit  to 
human  vanity.  If  Ibsen,  in  portraying  Mr.  Solness, 
intended  to  depict  a  colossal,  representative  Bore,  he 
succeeded:  but  it  was  not  worth  while. 

The  story  of  the  piece,  in  as  far  as  it  has  any  story, 
relates  that  Mr.  Solness,  having  completed  the  building 
of  a  church  tower,  mounted  to  the  top  of  that  structure, 
and,  amid  festal  decoration  and  the  acclaim  of  a  joyous 
multitude,  placed  a  floral  wreath  upon  it, — much  delight- 
ing, by  that  "steeple-jack"  performance,  a  precocious 
maiden,  named  Hilda  Wengel,  whom,  subsequently, 
after  he  had  become  vinously  exhilarated,  at  a  banquet 
given  in  his  honor,  he  fervently  embraced,  bending  her 
head  backward  and  kissing  her  many  times,  and  promis- 
ing to  make  her  "a  Princess";  that  ten  years  later,  when 
Miss  Wengel  had  grown  to  ripe  womanhood,  she  sought 
and  entered  his  abode  and  installed  herself  there  as  a 
lodger, — not  much  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  observant 
but  meek  and  sick  Mrs.  Solness;  that  she  routed  Mr. 
Solness's  book-keeper,  a  young  woman  named  Kaia 
Fosli,  who  was  in  love  with  him, — nourishing  a  passion 
which  he  mesmerically  encouraged  but  did  not  prac- 
tically reciprocate, — and  swept  her  from  the  house; 
that,  ultimately,  after  frequent  conversations  with  Mr. 
Solness,  concerning  his  domestic  experience  and  his  dis- 
content with  everything  (unless,  perhaps,  the  memory 
of  certain  rapturous  osculations),  she  managed,  by  way 
of  showing  her  power  over  him  and  preparing  the  way 


APPENDIX  581 

for  a  final  conquest,  to  compel  him  to  repeat  his  aerial 
exploit  of  earlier  days;  and  that,  after  crowning  the 
pinnacle  of  a  habitation  which  he  had  built  for  his  own 
abode,  Mr.  Solness  became  dizzy,  lost  his  balance,  and 
fell  to  his  death  upon  a  stone  quarry,  the  exuberant 
Miss  Wengel,  meantime,  wildly  shouting  "I  heard  harps 
in  the  air." 

There  is  supposed  to  be  an  ocean  of  occult  meaning 
in  all  this, — which  the  reader  is  recommended  to  deduce, 
at  pleasure.  To  some  of  the  elect  it  typifies  the  prev- 
alence of  a  younger  generation  over  its  predecessors, — 
that  is  to  say,  the  spirit  of  progress.  James  Huneker, 
an  ardent  apostle  of  Ibsen,  thinks  it  "a  true  interior 
drama"  and  feels  that,  having,  indirectly,  caused  Mr. 
Solness  to  topple  off  the  top  of  a  tower  and  break  his 
neck,  Miss  Wengel  is  well  entitled  to  call  him  "My — 
my  Master  Builder,"  because,  thereby,  she  "has  created 
his  soul  anew."  The  lucid  Maeterlinck,  in  a  choice 
specimen  of  his  limpid  utterances,  informs  us  that  in 

"dealing  with  'The  Master  Builder,'  which  is  one  of  Ibsen's 
dramas  wherein  the  dialogue  of  the  second  degree  attains  the 
deepest  tragedy,  I  endeavored,  unskilfully  enough,  to  fit  its 
secrets.  .  .  .  'What  is  it,'  I  asked,  'what  is  it,  in  "The  Master 
Builder,"  the  poet  has  added  to  life,  thereby  making  it  appear 
so  strange,  so  profound,  so  disquieting,  beneath  its  trivial  sur- 
face?' [What,  indeed!]  .  .  .  He  has  freed  certain  powers  of 
the  soul  that  have  never  yet  been  free,  and  it  may  be  that  these 
have  held  him  in  thrall.  .  .  .  Hilda  and  Solness  are,  I  believe, 
the  first  characters  in  drama  who  feel?  for  an  instant,  that  they 


582  APPENDIX 

are  living  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  soul;  and  the  discovery  of 
this  essential  life  that  exists  in  them,  beyond  the  life  of  every 
day,  comes  fraught  with  terror.  .  .  .  Their  conversation  re- 
sembles nothing  that  we  have  ever  heard.  [!!!!]  •  .  .  Anew, 
indescribable  power  dominates  this  somnambulistic  drama.  All 
that  is  said  therein  at  once  hides  and  reveals  the  sources  of  an 
unknown  life." 

This  wonderful  fabric,  indeed,  can  mean  anything 
and  everything  you  like.  On  the  stage  it  has,  prac- 
tically, no  meaning  whatever.  The  persons  implicated 
are,  practically,  unintelligible.  They  wander  in  and 
out,  but  they  do  nothing.  They  utter  many  words,  but 
they  say  nothing.  The  piece  provides  no  opportunity 
for  acting,  but  only  for  the  confused  display  of  passing 
moods.  Mr.  Solness  is  continually  in  a  state  of  fretful 
uneasiness,  sometimes  exhibiting  solicitude,  sometimes 
peevish  discontent,  sometimes  querulous  ill-temper. 
The  auxiliar  parts  associated  with  Mr.  Solness  and 
Miss  Wengel  are  mere  feeders  to  their  colloquy.  The 
presence  of  Dr.  Herdal,  who  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
theme,  but  only  leaks  in  and  out  of  the  conversation  at 
intervals,  is  chiefly  suggestive  of  a  regret  that,  being  a 
doctor,  and,  presumably,  acquainted  with  the  salutary 
uses  of  colocynth  and  calomel,  fresh  air,  exercise,  and 
cold  water  bathing,  he  does  not  employ  those  remedies 
to  regulate  the  liver  of  Mr.  Solness,  clear  his  mind  of 
the  pribbles  and  prabbles  of  jaded  nerves,  and  thus 
end,  or  at  least  mitigate,  his  egotistical  loquacity.     The 


APPENDIX  583 

actual  purpose  of  Miss  Wengel  does  not  become 
apparent  until  toward  the  end  of  the  piece,  and  even 
then  it  is  but  vaguely  indicated.  Her  ultimate  design 
appears  to  be  sensual.  She  seems  to  intend  to  subdue 
this  master-builder,  this  victorious  and  distinguished 
person,  and  to  enslave  him.  The  postulate,  in  Ibsen's 
mind,  seems  to  have  been  that  a  handsome,  daring, 
buoyant,  unscrupulous  young  woman  can,  as  a  rule,  do 
anything  she  pleases  to  do  with  almost  any  man  she 
pleases  to  select  as  the  victim  of  her  fascination.  There 
is  nothing  particularly  novel  or  striking  in  that  announce- 
ment. History  and  biography  abound  with  examples 
conclusively  expressive  of  its  truth.  Plutarch  truly  said 
that  the  soul  of  a  lover  lives  in  some  one  else's  body: 
one  of  the  most  expressive  and  pathetic  touches  in  his 
splendid  life  of  Antony  is  the  simple  record  that  when 
that  chieftain,  following  Cleopatra's  ignominious  flight, 
abandoned  the  battle  and  boarded  her  galley  he  went 
forward  without  seeing  her,  and  sat  in  the  prow,  silent, 
covering  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  so  remained  for 
three  days.  Complete  surrender  and  enslavement  to 
a  woman,  with  the  consciousness  of  the  weakness  thus 
implied,  are  strikingly  revealed  in  that  abject  figure  of 
desolation.  If  the  Norwegian  author  desired  to  glance 
at  that  posture  of  experience,  and  to  declare  that  the 
finer  the  nature  the  greater  is  its  peril,  he  might  have 
accomplished  his  object  with  fewer  words  and  in  a 
manner  far  more  direct  and  effective  than  he  used  in 


584  APPENDIX 

"The  Master  Builder."  If  he  had  no  such  design  he 
might  wisely  have  concluded  his  opaque  deliverance 
with  Don  Quixote's  summary  exclamation,  "Heaven 
knows  my  meaning!     I'll  say  no  more!" 

The  style  of  the  translation  into  English,  made  by 
Edmund  Gosse  and  William  Archer,  is  consistently 
vapid.  The  dialogues  trickle  on,  with  the  deliberate 
fluency  of  cold  molasses.  Such  phrases  as  "one  doesn't," 
"one  can,"  "one  would,"  etc.  (why  not  give  two  a  chance, 
now  and  then?),  are  of  frequent  occurrence.  The 
execrable  phrase  "later  on," — which  is  both  bad  English 
and  stupid  affectation, — is  freely  employed,  and  that 
much  overworked  word  "awfully"  is  pressed  into  service, 
the  heroine  stating  that  she  is  "awfully  fond"  of  her 
father.  In  the  performance  of  Miss  Wengel  by  Mme. 
Nazimova  there  was  nothing  remarkable  aside  from 
its  brilliant  animation  and  variety  of  feminine  entice- 
ments and  pretty  wiles.  The  actress  used  the  customary 
blandishments  of  her  sex, — which  are  not  difficult  to 
use  and  are  either  captivating  or  melancholy,  according 
to  the  eyes  that  see  them;  but  she  showed  herself  a 
competent  performer;  she  satisfied  the  requirements 
of  the  character  of  Miss  Wengel  by  being  lithesome, 
maintaining  a  buoyant  demeanor,  and  by  suffusing  her 
speech  and  movement  with  a  kind  of  elf-like  singularity 
and  feverish  ecstasy.  In  speaking  she  made  fritters  of 
the  English  language  and  contorted  her  face  in  making 
them.     The  essence  of  the  part  is  vanity,  reinforced  by 


APPENDIX  585 

animal  exuberance  and  an  indescribable  delirium,  partly 
erotic,  partly  sentimental,  and  partly  devilish.  Ibsen 
is  said  to  have  met,  when  an  old  man,  with  a  female 
who  suggested  this  character.  The  aged  bard  must, 
indeed,  have  had  some  singular  experiences  of  feminine 
eccentricity. 

"LITTLE     EYOLF." 

"Little  Eyolf "  was  first  conspicuously  acted  in  America 
by  Alia  Nazimova.  This  actress  is  a  Russian  who  has 
acquired  an  imperfect  command  of  the  English  language, 
and  whose  singularity  of  appearance  and  eccentricity  of 
demeanor  have  for  several  years  made  her  an  object 
of  public  curiosity.  In  1910  she  was  director,  in  asso- 
ciation with  the  Messrs.  Shubert,  of  a  theatre  in  New 
York  then  bearing  her  name,  but  now  (1912)  known 
as  the  Thirty-ninth  Street  Theatre.  On  April  18,  1910, 
she  revived  "Little  Eyolf,"  and  performed  in  it,  as  Rita 
Allmers, — Brandon  Tynan  appearing  as  Allmers,  Rob- 
ert T.  Haines  as  Borgheim,  and  Ida  Conquest  as  Asta 
Allmers. 

"Little  Eyolf"  is  one  of  the  gloomiest  and  most 
drearily  didactic  of  all  the  Ibsen  plays;  but  coupled  with 
"An  Enemy  of  the  People"  it  shows  the  Norwegian 
dramatist  at  his  best, — such  as  it  is.  The  subject  of  it, 
apparently,  is  human  responsibility  under  inexorable 
moral  laws.  The  author  seems  to  have  believed, — or  at 
least  to  have  intended  to  intimate  the  opinion, — that,  in 


586  APPENDIX 

mortal  experience,  reward  or  punishment,  happiness  or 
misery,  is  directly  awarded  to  each  and  every  individual 
in  exact  accordance  with  that  individual's  merit  or  fault. 
Rita  Alhners  represents  amatory  passion  for  her  hus- 
band, in  almost  frantic  excess.  She  must  be,  physically 
and  mentally,  the  one  object  of  his  idolatry.  Against 
whatever  obstacle  intervenes  between  them  she  opposes 
herself  with  a  fierce  resentment.  Her  love  is  voracious, 
her  jealousy  vigilant  and  wild.  The  specific  sources  of 
her  burning  discontent  and  bitter  antagonism  are  the 
half-sister  whom  her  husband  loves,  the  book  that  he  is 
writing,  and  their  only  child,  little  Eyolf, — to  whom 
Allmers,  after  considerable  neglect  of  the  boy,  has 
declared  himself  peculiarly  and  exceptionally  devoted. 

Allmers,  who  has  married  Rita  not  for  true  love,  but 
because  allured  by  her  physical  beauty  and  for  the  sake 
of  her  wealth,  typifies  morbid  and  belated  conscientious- 
ness. He  has  chosen,  as  a  vocation,  the  task  of  writing 
on  the  literature  of  moral  philosophy,  but  he  presently 
suspects  himself  of  being  a  failure  in  it, — a  suspicion 
not  without  reason,  as  he  often  talks  like  a  lunkhead, 
acts  like  a  fool,  and  accomplishes  nothing.  He  is  more 
at  ease  in  the  society  of  his  half-sister,  Asta  Allmers, 
than  in  that  of  his  wife,  whose  insistent,  exacting  ardor 
has  begun  to  cloy  and  repel  him.  The  "half-sister" 
Asta,  who  proves  to  be  not  a  relative  (being  the  child  of 
his  step-mother's  adultery),  is  in  love  with  him,  and  is 
enduring  and  concealing,  as  well  as  she  can,  the  corro- 


APPENDIX  587 

sive  agony  of  her  tortured  heart  and  afflicted  mind. 
Asta  is  beloved,  and  sought  in  marriage  by  a  kind,  good, 
energetic,  practical,  commonplace  man,  named  Borg- 
heim,  a  civil  engineer,  to  whose  love,  however,  she  can 
only  partially  respond.  It  is  stated,  in  a  colloquy  of 
bitter  recrimination,  that  the  infant  Eyolf,  temporarily 
neglected  by  his  parents, — when  they  were  absorbed  in 
connubial  intercourse, — rolled  from  a  table  and  was 
hopelessly  crippled  by  the  fall;  whereupon  Allmers, 
blaming  his  wife  for  her  passionate  enticement  and  him- 
self for  responding  to  it,  has  been  impelled,  through 
late  awakening  of  the  moral  sense  under  pressure  of 
cumulative,  afflicting  self-reproach,  to  dedicate  his  life 
to  the  service  of  that  child. 

An  elderly  female,  whose  employment  is  to  lure  and 
drown  rodent  vermin,  by  pla3Ting  on  "panpipes"  and 
rowing  out  to  sea, — whither  the  vermin,  as  alleged,  fol- 
low her  because  they  do  not  wish  to  do  so, — figures 
briefly  and  "symbolically"  in  the  domestic  scene  of  dis- 
cord, cross-purposes,  passion,  and  misery  upon  which  this 
group  of  sufferers  is  displayed,  and  seems  to  be  intended 
to  indicate  that  a  malign  agency  of  accommodation  waits 
on  every  evil  wish  of  the  human  mind, — though,  in 
presence  of  Ibsen's  "symbolism,"  it  is  ever  prudent  that 
normal  minds  should  not  be  positive,  since  even  the 
experts  in  it  seldom  agree  as  to  its  significance.  Fren- 
zied resentment  of  her  husband's  devotion  to  Eyolf 
causes  Rita  to  express  a  wish  that  the  child  "had  never 


588  APPENDIX 

been  born"  and  that  he  were  out  of  the  way,  and  the 
supreme  catastrophe  of  mingled  disappointment,  anguish, 
self-disgust,  acrimonious  animosity,  and  settled  gloom 
for  everybody  concerned  in  the  experience  is  promptly 
and  conveniently  precipitated  by  the  death  of  little 
Eyolf,  who,  "lured"  in  some  obscure  manner  by  the 
aged  female  fascinator  of  vermin,  follows  her,  becomes 
dizzy,  falls  from  a  pier  into  the  sea,  and  is  drowned. 

With  respect  to  every  play  the  examiner  is  enlight- 
ened if  he  can  ascertain,  first,  what  it  contains,  and, 
second,  what  it  means.  In  "Little  Eyolf"  there  is  a 
story  of  a  tedious  and  dismal  domestic  tangle,  caused 
by  the  confluence  and  clash  of  selfish,  erotic  feeling  with 
supersensitive  conscience.  The  chief  persons  involved 
are,  as  usual  in  Ibsen's  plays,  exceptional  beings,  manu- 
factured, in  the  fictitious  portrayal  of  "real  life,"  for 
a  didactic  occasion.  The  incidents  are  few,  and  of 
action,  in  the  true  sense  of  that  word,  there  is  nothing. 
Dialogue  abounds,  and  it  is  liberally  punctuated  with 
spasms  of  hysteric  emotion,  which,  however,  do  not 
relieve  monotony.  The  meaning  of  the  play  (taking 
the  most  liberal  view  and  assuming  that  there  is  a  defi- 
nite, rational  meaning  enwrapped  in  its  misty  substance) 
could  have  been  stated  in  a  sentence:  Human  beings 
are  responsible  to  God,  and  every  action  performed  by 
human  beings  should  be  performed  with  strict  obedience 
to  the  moral  law  and  with  solemn  remembrance  of  a 
coming   Day    of   Judgment.      There    are,    incidentally, 


APPENDIX  589 

many  affirmations, — the  most  conspicuous  of  them  being 
that  nobody  acts  from  an  unselfish  motive,  that  every- 
body is  weak  or  in  some  way  deficient,  and  that 
all  men  are  miserable  sinners.  The  novelty  of  the 
latter  disclosure  would  be  astounding, — were  it  not  for 
the  unfortunate  priority  of  the  compilers  of  the  Prayer- 
book.  Writers  who  vaunt  themselves  and  are  vaunted 
as  bringers  of  New  Thought  and  what  Havelock  Ellis 
calls  "the  New  Spirit"  are,  not  unreasonably,  expected 
to  say  something  a  little  fresher  than  scraps  of  morality 
out  of  the  Jew  Bible.  This  play,  moreover,  like  its 
fellows,  abounds  in  flat  contradictions. 

Ibsen's  moral  tag  is,  obviously,  irreproachable.  Some 
of  the  ingredients  of  the  mixture  of  passion,  sin,  and 
precept  are  sufficiently  spiced  to  be  obvious,  and  Alia 
Nazimova,  who  is  of  the  twisting,  twining,  quivering, 
serpentine  sisterhood, — lithesome  creatures,  who  make 
their  eyes  large  and  round,  readily  fall  into  convulsions, 
and,  with  reckless  violence,  precipitate  themselves  upon 
the  floor, — seemed,  in  her  acting,  heedful  that  anguish 
should  be  liberally  supplied  and  that  the  physiological 
nature  of  Ritas  sufferings  should  be  clearly  manifested. 
Her  "management,"  likewise,  as  though  fearful  that  she 
might  not  be  understood,  widely  advertised,  by  way  of 
commendation,  an  explanatory  comment,  stating  that 
she  presented  "a  picture  of  desire  not  soon  to  be  for- 
gotten." The  impersonation  of  Rita  was  of  that  order 
which  gratifies  judges  who  care  nothing  for  form,  but 


590  APPENDIX 

are  quickly  responsive  to  hysterics.  Very  little  of  the 
text,  as  spoken  by  Mme.  Nazimova  and  by  some  of  her 
associates,  reached  the  ear  of  the  auditor,  except  as 
partially  unintelligible  sound,  but  perhaps  that  should 
be  remembered  as  a  mercy.  On  the  other  hand,  there 
was  a  superabundance  of  the  booming  elocution  of 
Allmers,  represented,  in  a  monotonous  form  of  oratorical 
woe,  and  with  marked  Hibernian  aspect  and  intonation, 
by  Mr.  Tynan.  Seldom  have  wretched  persons  had  more 
to  say,  or  been  more  industrious  in  verbal  prolixity, 
than  the  grief-stricken,  passion-tossed,  moon-eyed  inter- 
locutors in  this  crazy  drama. 

SUMMARY. 

Ibsen  has  been  thrust  upon  the  English-speaking  Stage 
as  a  Dramatic  Messiah,  charged  with  a  New  Revelation, 
another  Moses  emergent  from  the  celestial  Presence  with 
a  message  for  mankind,  paramount  to  all  other  messages 
that  have  ever  been  received.  He  is,  we  are  assured, 
the  foremost  dramatic  influence  of  our  age,  penetrating 
all  nations  and  affecting  all  minds,  and  society  is  sum- 
moned to  bow  before  this  stern  and  awful  Scandinavian 
person  and  learn  at  last  the  truth.  It  has  come  to  pass, 
furthermore,  that  to  disregard  that  summons,  to  dissent 
in  any  degree  from  the  proposition  that  Ibsen  was  a 
great  dramatist  and  that  his  dramas  ought  to  be  uni- 
versally acted  and  admired,  is  to  incur  the  hideous 
penalty   of   denunciation   as   a    reactionist   and   a   fogy. 


APPENDIX  591 

Yet  Ibsen  is  not  a  dramatist,  in  the  true  sense  of  that 
word,  and  Ibsenism,  which  is  rank,  deadly  pessimism, 
is  a  disease,  injurious  alike  to  the  Stage  and  to  the 
Public,-^— in  as  far  as  it  affects  them  at  all, — and  there- 
fore an  evil  to  be  deprecated.  The  didactic  tendency 
of  which,  in  his  group  of  "sociological  plays,"  Ibsen  is 
a  principal  exponent  is  pernicious,  for  the  reason  that 
it  is  a  tendency  to  represent  human  nature  as  radically 
and  universally  vile  and  human  society  as  hopelessly 
corrupt.  ["I  go  down  into  the  sewers,"  said  the  Nor- 
wegian writer,  and  "my  business  is  to  ask  questions,  not 
to  answer  them."  So  be  it.  But,  whatever  be  the 
motive,  why  should  the  product  of  an  exploration  of 
"sewers"  be  exploited  through  the  medium  of  the 
Theatre?  Granting  to  Ibsen  and  his  followers  the  high- 
est and  best  motives,  they  have  altogether  mistaken  the 
province  of  the  Theatre  in  choosing  it  as  the  fit  medium 
for  the  expression  of  sociological  views, — views,  more- 
over, which,  once  adopted,  would  disrupt  society.  There 
are  halls  to  be  hired.  There  is  an  audience  for  the  lect- 
ure,— if  lecturing  would  serve  any  good  purpose.  There 
are  societies  of  learned  men  who  study  sociology  and  are 
ever  ready  to  accept  illumination  on  the  subject,  from 
any  one  who  can  provide  it.  Why  inflict  the  Stage 
with  inquiry  as  to  "original  sin,"  or  the  consequence  of 
ancestral  wickedness,  or  the  moral  obliquity  resultant 
from  hereditary  disease,  or  the  various  forms  of  corrup- 
tion incident  to  vice   and  crime?     Since  when   did   the 


592  APPENDIX 

Theatre  become  a  proper  place  for  a  clinic  of  horrors 
and  the  vivisection  of  moral  ailments?  It  is  easy  to 
say,  as  was  said  by  the  despondent,  hysterical,  inflam- 
matory Jeremiah,  in  the  Bible,  that  the  heart  of  man 
is  deceitful  above  all  things  and  desperately  wicked. 
But  what  good  have  you  done  when  you  have  made  that 
statement?  As  a  matter  of  fact  it  is  only  half  true. 
There  are  in  the  world  many  kind,  pure  hearts  and 
noble  minds;  not  a  day  passes  without  its  deeds  of 
simple  heroism;  not  an  hour  passes  without  some  mani- 
festation of  beautiful  self-sacrifice,  splendid  patience, 
celestial  fidelity  to  duty,  and  sweet  manifestation  of 
unselfish  love.  There  must  be  evil  to  illustrate  good, 
but  in  art,  and  emphatically  in  dramatic  art,  it  must 
be  wisely  selected.  The  spectacle  of  virtue  in  human 
character  and  loveliness  in  human  conduct  will  accom- 
plish far  more  for  the  benefit  of  society  than  ever  can 
be  accomplished  by  the  spectacle  of  imbecile  propensity, 
vicious  conduct,  or  any  form  of  the  aberrancy  of  mental 
disease.  Sunshine  and  flowers  are  more  propitious  than 
darkness  and  weeds.  It  has  been  well  said  that  "the 
knowledge  of  human  nature  which  is  exclusive  of  what 
is  good  in  it  is,  at  least,  as  shallow  and  -  imperfect  as 
that  which  is  exclusive  of  what  is  evil." 

As  a  moral  philosopher  Ibsen  stultifies  himself:  "My 
business  is  to  ask  questions,  not  to  answer  them!"  Did 
Ibsen  seriously  suppose, — do  his  advocates  seriously  sup- 
pose,— that   the   defects    of    Society   were   unknown   or 


APPENDIX  593 

unregarded  before  he  noticed  them?  A  moral  philoso- 
pher, if  he  is  to  be  of  any  use  to  the  world,  must  do 
something  besides  "ask  questions," — something  more 
than  amble  in  the  streets  vociferating  "rottenness,  sin, 
and  iniquity!"  Ibsen's  sociological  plays  neither  impart 
nor  enforce  helpful  significance  as  to  the  social  themes 
they  present:  they  suggest  no  improvement.  Their 
author  was  not  only  dreary  and  dejected  himself;  he 
was  the  cause  that  dreariness  and  dejection  are  in  the 
minds  of  all  clear-brained  thinkers  who  study  his  writ- 
ings. His  ability,  such  as  it  was, — and  it  was  not 
extraordinary, — entitles  him  to  fair  recognition,  which 
he  has  received,  but  neither  Ibsen's  ability  nor  that  of 
any  other  individual  is  of  the  slightest  practical  value 
to  the  public  unless,  whatever  be  the  medium  of  expres- 
sion, it  is  used  for  the  public  good.  The  need  of  the 
world  is  direction  and  assistance,  and  its  honor  and 
reverence  are  due  to  those  who  help  it.  Ibsen's  "philo- 
sophic" plays  are  intolerable, — one  reason  being  that 
they  deal  not  with  characteristics,  but  with  symptoms: 
in  the  expressive  phrase  of  Wordsworth,  they  "murder 
to  dissect."  A  reformer  who  calls  you  to  crawl  with 
him  into  a  sewer,  merely  to  see  and  breathe  its  feculence, 
is  a  pest.  As  a  thinker,  as  a  moral  philosopher,  as  a 
commentator,  as  an  artist,  whether  in  writing  or  in 
life,  Ibsen  was  so  far  below  and  so  far  behind  such 
a  man,  for  example,  as  the  great  novelist  and  true 
reformer  Charles  Reade    (whose  moral  enthusiasm  was 


594  APPENDIX 

almost  unique,  and  whose  perception  of  moral  obliquity 
and  social  injustice  was  only  equalled  by  his  wrathful, 
scorching  antagonism  of  them,  in  sympathy  with  human 
goodness,  potential  and  actual),  that  it  would  be  an 
insult  to  Reade's  memory  to  institute  any  comparison 
between  them. 

It  has  already  been  noticed  that  the  accomplished 
actress  Mrs.  Fiske  has  been  more  influential  than  any 
other  member  of  the  dramatic  profession  in  America 
in  the  encouragement  and  practical  support  of  the 
Ibsen  movement.  It  must  always  be  difficult  to  com- 
prehend why  this  should  be  so,  because  Mrs.  Fiske  pos- 
sesses a  good  repertory  of  old  plays  and  has  shown 
judgment  and  taste,  when  she  so  pleased,  in  acquiring 
new  ones.  The  befogging  effect,  even  on  a  vigorous 
intellect,  of  surrender  to  Ibsenism  is  well  illustrated 
by  the  published  remarks  on  Ibsen  made  by  that  actress. 
Mrs.  Fiske  observes  that  "as  the  principal  characters 
in  an  Ibsen  drama  were  living  many  years  before  the 
visible  presentation,  the  producer  of  an  Ibsen  drama 
must  delve  into  the  childhood  of  those  characters,  and 
discover  and  comprehend  all  that  has  gone  before." 
Since  that  is  true  as  to  the  stage  treatment  of  all  char- 
acters that  are  worthy  of  serious  consideration  in  any 
and  every  play,  the  appliance  of  the  principle  to  Ibsen's 
colloquial  fabrics  serves  only  once  more  to  suggest  Dr. 
Holmes's  familiar  insect  which  "says  an  undisputed 
thing  in   such   a   solemn   way."     Not  since  the   erudite 


APPENDIX  595 

Erving  Winslow,  of  Boston,  made  known  the  illumi- 
native fact  that  Ibsen  is  such  a  "pure  and  sweet  writer" 
that,  in  preparing  his  works  for  public  reading,  he 
found  it  necessary  to  reject  some  of  them  altogether 
and  to  "excise"  others,  has  such  a  singular  example 
been  shown  of  apparent  inconsistency  between  opinion 
and  conduct  as  that  presented  by  Mrs.  Fiske,  who  has 
declared  that  the  character  of  Hedda  Gabler  (in  the 
Ibsen  play  of  that  name)  at  once  "illustrates  a  very 
obvious  lesson"  and  "requires  years  of  study  to  master 
its  meaning" ;  and  also  that  "the  auditor  of  'Hedda' 
does  not  know  what  the  play  means,  perhaps,"  but  that 
tfno  one  of  Ibsen's  characters  can  be  on  the  stage  five 
minutes  without  being  fully  revealed" ;  and  if  the  audi- 
tor of  the  paradox  will  study  it  he  will  be  aware  of 
"a  great  awakening  of  his  mental  forces"!  And  further, 
when  it  is  recalled  that  Mrs.  Fiske  has  publicly 
expressed  the  conviction  that  Ibsen,  "by  his  example 
as  well  as  by  his  work  has  almost  banished  beauty, 
nobility,  and  poetry  from  the  Stage"  and  that  his 
influence  (necessarily)  is  "baneful,"  her  persistence  in 
sustaining  that  "baneful"  influence  must  cause  some 
slight  perplexity  of  the  observer's  understanding.  After 
such  illuminative  and  conclusive  testimony  of  apostles, 
there  is  little  needed  from  opponents  to  explain  and 
sustain  inveterate,  incessant  opposition  to  Ibsenitish 
misuse  of  the  drama. 

The   case   for   Ibsenism,    in   as   far   as   there   is   any 


59G  APPENDIX 

case,  has  not  been  urged  more  ardently  or  insistently 
than  by  Harrison  Grey  Fiske,  for  many  years  owner 
and  editor  of  "The  New  York  Dramatic  Mirror,"  and 
advocacy  of  it  by  that  authority  can  rightly  be  accepted 
as  comprehensive  and  representative. 

"  Truth  will  not  down,"  says  Mr.  Fiske,  "and  the 
speaker  of  it  must,  sooner  or  later,  be  heard.  Ibsen  is 
the  apostle  of  truth,  and  his  dramas  mean  something 
that  is  human.  )  Much  of  his  dramatic  motivity  is  aber- 
rant, but  aberrancy,  unhappily,  is  a  strong  characteristic 
of  humanity  itself,  under  the  artificial  standards  that 
have  sought  to  control  impulse.  .  .  ." 

Precisely.  What,  then,  are  those  tyrannous  "artificial 
standards"  and  what  "impulse"  is  it  that  they  have 
sought  to  control?  It  requires  very  little  investiga- 
tion to  discover  that  the  "artificial  standards"  are 
the  social  conventions  which,  gradually,  have  been 
evolved  and  established  for  the  advancement  and 
welfare  of  civilization  and  the  elevation  of  man  from 
the  state  of  a  mere  animal,  while  the  "impulse" 
which  those  impediments  "have  sought  to  control"  is 
man's  animal  propensity  to  gratify  all  his  "natural" 
desires,  regardless  of  consequences  to  individuals  or  to 
society,  and  especially  to  act,  in  relation  to  the  female 
sex,  with  complete  disregard  of  the  duties  and  restric- 
tions that  make  civilized  society  possible.  Such  con- 
duct is  thought  to  be  "emancipated," — a  glorious  vindi- 
cation   of   "individualism."      "Impulse,"    it    appears,    is 


APPENDIX  597 

something  which  should  not  be  controlled.  Social  law 
is  "artificial."  Aberrancy,  since  it  is  "a  strong  char- 
acteristic of  humanity  itself,"  must  be  viewed  with  a 
certain  tolerant  tenderness,  as  motivity  in  the  acted 
drama.  According  to  the  Dictionary  "aberrancy"  sig- 
nifies "a  wandering  from  the  right  way,"  or,  in  morals, 
"a  deviation  from  rectitude";  and,  therefore,  in  describ- 
ing much  of  Ibsen's  motivity  as  "aberrant,"  his  admiring 
advocate  is  exactly  correct, — though  his  approval  of  that 
"motivity"  seems  a  little  mysterious.  Approve  of  it, 
however,  he  does,  for  he  declares  that  "Ibsen  is  the 
apostle  of  truth";  and,  incidentally,  he  bestows  a  word 
of  pity  on  "minds  that  may  be  sane  and  balanced  on  all 
other  subjects,  but  that,  quite  plainly,  do  not  grasp  the 
meaning  of  Ibsen,  or  appreciate  the  value  of  his 
work." 

Nothing  has  been  more  fully  demonstrated  by  the 
experience  of  mankind  than  that  a  work  which  is  dis- 
tinctly moral  in  its  platitudinous  precept  can  be,  and 
frequently  is,  potently  immoral  not  by  reason  of  what 
it  preaches,  but  by  reason  of  what  it  exhibits.  This 
fact,  however,  is  beyond  the  comprehension  of  a  certain 
order  of  mind,  and,  consequently,  those  persons  who, 
acting  on  conviction,  have  opposed  the  Ibsen  movement, 
as  a  movement  pernicious  alike  to  morals  and  to  art, 
are  denounced  as  "abnormal  moralists,"  "prurient  pur- 
ists," and  "sentimental  back-numbers."  The  study  of 
Ibsen  seems  to  infect  his  "all  or  nothing"  admirers  with 


598  APPENDIX 

a  mental  confusion  kindred  with  his  own, — or  perhaps, 
it  is  a  mental  confusion  kindred  with  his  own  that  makes 
them  his  admirers.  "Ibsen's  men  and  women,"  says 
James  Huneker,  "offend  those  who  believe  the  Theatre 
to  be  a  place  of  sentimentality  or  clowning."  That  may 
be  true — or  false.  Credible  testimony  on  the  subject 
could  come  only  from  persons,  whosoever  they  may  be, 
who  entertain  such  a  silly  belief.  But  some  of  the  plays 
of  Ibsen  and  his  kind  do  offend  persons  who  respect  the 
Theatre,  when  maintained  as  a  place  for  pure  drama  and 
fine  acting;  a  place  in  which,  while  presenting  the  widest 
variety  of  right  subject, — tragedy,  comedy,  farce,  melo- 
drama, burlesque,  musical  comedy,  pantomime,  or  spec- 
tacle,— nothing  can  be  shown  or  discussed  which  is  out- 
side the  legitimate  province  of  art,  or  offensive  to  the 
general  sense  of  decency,  refinement,  and  good  taste. 

Much  encomium  has,  from  time  to  time,  been  printed, 
relative  to  the  alleged  supreme  "technique"  of  Ibsen's 
plays,  but  particular  elucidation  of  it  is  not  provided. 
A  disquisition  is  not  a  play.  There  is  more  true  drama 
in  Wills's  "Olivia,"  Young's  "Jim  the  Penman," 
Thomas's  "The  Witching  Hour,"  and  McLellan's  "Leah 
Kleschna"  (though  the  latter  is  overfreighted  with 
didacticism  and  marred  by  a  weak  last  act)  than  there 
is  in  a  round  dozen  of  the  works  of  Ibsen.  The  benefi- 
cent effect  of  a  work  of  art  can  operate  as  subtly  as  that 
of  sunlight:  it  certainly  is  not  less  sure.  The  injurious 
effect  of  a  perversion  of  art  can  operate  as  subtly  as 


APPENDIX  599 

does  the  infection  of  disease:  often  it  is  not  less  harm- 
ful. All  persons  who  chance  to  be  exposed  to  disease 
are  not  necessarily  infected.  There  is,  however,  no 
room  to  doubt  the  benefit  or  to  question  the  need  of 
sunlight.  The  province  of  art  is  the  ministry  of  beauty, 
and  beauty,  in  art,  is  inseparable  from  morality.  That 
is  the  only  ground  on  which  the  existence  of  art  can 
be  incontestably  justified.  As  long  as  that  doctrine 
is  assailed,  so  long  will  militant  assertion  of  it  be 
required,  and  at  no  time  has  insistence  on  it  been  more 
essential  than  now,  when  every  horror  of  the  passing 
hour  and  every  freak  that  can  be  seized  on  as  likely  to 
catch  public  notice  are,  more  than  ever  heretofore, 
appropriated  for  exploitation  in  the  Theatre. 

"The  immorality  of  these  plays  is  so  well  concealed 
that  only  abnormal  moralists  can  detect  it.  These  plays 
are  not  sex  dramas  at  all,  in  the  sense  that  Sardou's 
dramas  are."  Thus  Mr.  Huneker.  Quite  true,  in 
as  far  as  the  latter  proposition  is  concerned, — though 
false  and  impudent  in  the  former.  As  far  as  known 
nobody  has  described  them  as  "sex  dramas."  Immo- 
rality, in  its  worst  aspects,  is  not  a  matter  of  sexual 
relation  between  men  and  women.  Some  of  Sardou's 
plays  represent  not  only  the  great,  fundamental  attri- 
bute of  drama, — that  of  action, — but  also  they  represent 
the  crime,  suffering,  and  lethal  catastrophe  that  fre- 
quently, and  naturally,  proceed  from  illicit  conduct, 
and  often  they  interest  the  mind  (and  therein  are  hurt- 


600  APPENDIX 

fill,  because  vicious),  and  sometimes,  while  they  interest, 
they  do  not  offend.  Ibsen's  dramas,  when  treating  of 
the  relations  of  sex, — notably  in  "Hedda  Gabler," 
"Rosmersholm,"  and  "Ghosts," — treat  them  as  affected 
under  the  reaction  of  disease,  and  thus  they  fill  the 
mind,  whether  of  the  reader  or  the  auditor,  with  disgust 
and  gloom:  they  pervert  life:  they  tend  to  disseminate 
misinformation,  augment  ignorance,  and  mislead  weak 
or  ill-educated  minds,  and  therein  they  are  immoral. 

Ibsen's  admiring  advocate  Hjalmar  Hjorth  Boyesen, 
in  summarizing  facts  relative  to  that  author,  wrote: 
"In  all  Ibsen's  attempts  to  break  down  the  code  of 
traditional  ethics  his  method  has  been  to  devise  a  glar- 
ing exception,  in  order  to  invalidate  the  rule."  That  is 
a  method  of  logical  procedure  which  recalls  the  High- 
lander's astonishing  gun,  mentioned  by  Scott,  that 
"only  required  lock,  stock,  and  barrel  to  make  it  per- 
fect.3* Further  Boyesen  observes  that  Ibsen's  mission 
"is  to  drag  moral  ugliness  into  the  light  of  day."  Well 
— he  did  not  altogether  fail  in  his  "mission"!  An 
uglier  lot  of  beings  than  are  most  of  the  characters  in 
the  Ibsen  plays  will  not  be  found  short  of  Gulliver's 
voyage  to  the  land  of  the  Stnddbrugs,  whom  the  gloomy 
cynic  Dean  Swift  described  as  "opinionated,  peevish, 
covetous,  morose,  vain,  talkative,  incapable  of  friendship, 
and  dead  to  all  natural  emotion." 

The   most   essential    attribute,   whether   for   a   dram- 
atist or  a  philosopher,  is  clarity  of  thought  and  state- 


APPENDIX  601 

ment.  In  that  respect  the  writings  of  Ibsen  are  con- 
spicuously deficient.  Among  his  most  devoted  followers 
there  is  dissension  as  to  his  meanings,  one  of  them, 
indeed,  not  hesitating  to  declare,  as  a  merit,  that  the 
bard  himself  very  likely  did  not  always  know  precisely 
what  he  meant.  Nevertheless,  it  is  claimed  that  an 
author  who  could  not, — and  certainly  did  not, — state 
his  own  thoughts  clearly  ought  to  be  recognized  and 
exalted  as  a  leader  of  the  thought  of  the  world.  The 
commonplace  element  in  literature,  as  it  stands  forth  in 
its  true  colors,  can  be  endured,  but  when  it  vaunts  itself 
or  is  thrust  upon  thoughtful  attention  as  genius,  origi- 
nality, and  power  it  becomes  intolerable.  Ibsen,  as  a 
writer  of  a  number  of  variously  flaccid,  insipid,  tainted, 
obfuscated,  and  nauseous  plays,  could  be  borne,  although, 
even  in  that  aspect,  he  is  an  offence  to  taste  and  a  bur- 
den on  patience,  but  Ibsen  obtruded  as  a  sound  leader  of 
thought  is  a  grotesque  absurdity.  As  a  dramatic  writer 
he  distorted  almost  everything  he  touched.  Not  since  the 
halcyon  days  of  Tupper,  when  the  reading  world  was 
gravely  apprized  that  "a  babe  in  the  house  is  a  well- 
spring  of  pleasure,"  and  was  expected  to  be  thrilled  by 
that  announcement,  has  such  a  torrent  of  mingled 
imbecility  and  commonplace  been  poured  into  print  as 
is  found  in  the  writings  of  that  crazy  theorist;  and  not 
since  Tupper's  noon  of  notoriety  as  the  prophet  of 
milk  and  water  have  the  disciples  of  any  literary  exotic 
ventured  to  vaunt  him  as  a  philosopher,  with  nothing 


602  APPENDIX 

to  sustain  the  pretension  except  a  mass  of  crotchets  and 
platitudes. 

Strange  assertions  are  made  by  the  Ibsenite.  "The 
form  of  the  Ibsen  plays,"  says  Mr.  Huneker,  "is  com- 
pact with  ideas  and  emotions.  We  don't  usually  go 
to  the  Theatre  to  think  or  to  feel."  That  assurance 
may  convey  the  truth  as  to  Ibsenites:  there  is  abundant 
reason  for  supposing  some  of  them  to  be  incapable  of 
either  feeling  or  thought;  but,  in  view  of  the  decisive 
fact  that,  primarily  and  essentially,  the  acted  drama 
always  does  and  always  must  appeal  to  the  emotions 
and  then  to  the  mind,  that  is,  to  the  intellectual  facul- 
ties, what  should  be  thought  of  the  mental  condition 
which  makes  it  possible  for  such  a  statement  to  be 
made?  If  it  is  not  feeling  enforced  by  thought  that 
brings  tears  to  the  eyes  at  a  performance  of  "Lear"  or 
"Becket"  or  "Sweet  Lavender"  or  "Alabama"  or  "The 
Middleman" — what,  in  the  name  of  common  sense,  is  it? 

"And  for  the  ideals,  dear  to  us,  which  he  [Ibsen]  so 
savagely  attacks,  he  so  clears  the  air  about  some  old, 
familiar,  mist-haunted  ideal  of  duty,  that  we  wonder  if 
we  have  hitherto  mistaken  its  meaning!"  Amazing  sage, 
who  "so  clears  the  air"  that  we  are  left  "wondering" 
whether  we  have  (or  have  not)  mistaken  the  meaning 
of  an  ideal  of  beauty!  "His  [Ibsen's]  are  not  closet 
dramas,  to  be  leisurely  digested  by  lamplight;  conceived 
for  the  Theatre,  actuality  is  their  key-note;  his  char- 
acters are  pale  abstractions  on  the  printed  page";  yet 


APPENDIX  603 

"Ibsen's  dialogue  is  clarity  itself  and  closely  woven,  it 
has  the  characteristic  accents  of  nature.  Read,  we  feel 
its  gripping  logic  .  .  ."  The  "gripping  logic"  of  char- 
acters which  are  "pale  abstractions  on  the  printed  page"! 
The  fact  meanwhile  is  that  Ibsen's  persons  all  talk 
alike,  all  talk  like  Ibsen,  and  that  Ibsen  invariably  talks 
like  a  person  of  fluctuating  mental  disorder.  It  is  as  diffi- 
cult to  obtain  a  distinct  meaning  from  an  Ibsenite  as  it 
is  to  derive  from  the  writings  of  Ibsen  a  lucid  statement 
of  precisely  what  he  means.  Around  what  "old,  familiar, 
mist-haunted  ideal  of  duty"  has  Ibsen  "cleared  the  air"? 
And  what  is  a  "mist-haunted  ideal  of  duty"? 

A  final  objection  to  this  author  is  that,  apart  from 
the  lack  of  fitness  in  his  themes,  he  does  not  discuss  his 
subjects  in  a  fair  manner,  looking  at  both  sides  of  the 
question,  and  without  specious  special  pleading.  "He  is 
determined"  (still  Mr.  Huneker)  "to  tell  the  truth 
about  our  microcosmic  baseness."  If  so,  why  does  it 
happen  that  his  determination  generally  eventuates  not 
in  truth,  but  in  falsehood?  Does  it  follow,  because  a 
Caligula  and  a  Faustina  once  existed,  and  still,  perhaps, 
are  possibilities,  that  all  men  are  monsters  and  all 
women  bestial  wantons?  Are  there  no  unselfish  per- 
sons? Ibsen,  we  are  assured  by  the  same  authority, 
"made  his  report  of  the  human  soul  as  he  saw  it."  In 
that,  clearly,  he  was  within  his  right:  but,  since  his 
report  was  to  be  inflicted  on  the  public  through  the 
medium  of  the  Stage,  it  is  greatly  to  be  regretted  that 


604.  APPENDIX 

his  optics  were  not  in  a  healthful  condition.  Mental 
astigmatism  is  an  infirmity,  not  a  talent,  and  the 
"report"  is  not  the  less  misleading  and  injurious, 
because  inadequate  through  lack  of  perception,  than  it 
would  be  if  false  through  deliberate  intention  to  deceive. 
Furthermore,  even  in  his  misrepresentation  of  human 
nature,  Ibsen  was  not  original.  Cynics  have  always 
existed,  and  Dean  Swift's  report  of  the  human  soul  as 
he  saw  it, — a  report  made  nearly  two  hundred  years  ago 
(1727), — far  transcends  that  of  Ibsen  not  only  in  every 
particular  of  technical  expertness  of  expression,  but  in 
melancholy  incompleteness,  purblind  censoriousness, 
gross  falsehood,  and  ignominious  censure.  The  excuse, 
or  at  least  the  explanation,  for  Swift  is — incipient  insan- 
ity, which  terminated  in  madness.  The  explanation  of 
Ibsen,  likewise,  is,  unquestionably,  a  disordered  brain. 

One  great  error  of  dramatic  "reformers"  lies  in  the 
basic  assumption  that  change  necessarily  signifies 
improvement.  Often  it  is  recession.  Achievement  in 
the  future  may  excel  achievement  in  the  past.  It  was 
long  ago  observed  by  a  wise  observer  that  "we  know 
not  what  a  day  may  bring  forth."  Let  us  hope  that 
the  new  day  will  provide  dramatic  writers  of  greater 
and  finer  ability  than  has  ever  been  manifested  and 
that  the  art  of  acting  will  attain  to  a  loftier  height  than 
it  ever  yet  has  reached.  Entertainment  of  that  hope 
and  endeavor  to  realize  it  will  not  retard  advancement! 
There  are  many  adverse  influences,  but  in  the  strife 


APPENDIX  605 

between  good  and  evil  good  is  destined  ultimately  to 
prevail.  Great  minds  will  be  born,  and  noble  thoughts 
will  impel  to  noble  endeavor.  The  movement  of  the 
world  is  onward  and  upward,  but  that  movement  has 
never  been  helped,  and  it  never  will  be  helped,  by  any 
such  gospel  of  disordered  mentality,  distrust,  despond- 
ency, bitterness,  and  gloom  as  that  which  proceeded 
from  the  diseased  mind  of  Henrik  Ibsen.  And  if  the 
reader  is  half  as  sick  of  the  whole  subject  of  his  plays 
as  I  am,  he  must  be  indeed  rejoiced  to  come  to  the 
end  of  this  chapter! 


II. 

AMERICAN  ACTORS  ABROAD, 

AND    HOW    THEY    "FAIL"    THERE. 

Sometimes  a  little  cloud  you  can  espy, 
With  many  stars  around  it,  in  the  sky; 
I  am  that  little  cloud  upon  the  Stage: 
All  theatres  and  all  actors  I  engage, 
And,  having  hired  them  all,  I  wax  in  pelf; 
My  Theatre  is  a  shop  and  runs  itself! 

— Mr.  Charles  Frohman's  Parable,   Versified. 

A  representative  speculator  in  "theatrical  goods,'* 
Mr.  Charles  Frohman,  returning  to  New  York,  from 
England,  supplemented  his  customary  newspaper  proc- 
lamation of  his  alleged  business  plans, — the  presentation 
of  plays  aboard  ocean  steamships,  the  touring  of 
America  with  portable  theatres,  the  establishment  of 
repertory  playhouses  on  the  East  Side  of  New  York 
City,  and  so  forth, — with  a  somewhat  amusing  assurance, 
which  the  complaisant  press  circulated  and  which  the 
credulous  public  was  expected  to  credit.  "  After  many 
years  of  labor,"  he  said,  "I  have  actually  got  them 
to  accept  American  actors  abroad."  Mr.  Frohman's 
view  of  his  vocation  and  likewise  of  himself  has  been 
declared  by  him,  in  words  of  which  the  meaning  can- 

606 


APPENDIX  607 

not  be  mistaken:  those  words  are,  "I  keep  a  Depart- 
ment Store"  and  "The  Best  in  the  Theatre  means  me!" 
This  tradesman's  notion,  however,  that  the  acceptance 
of  American  actors  abroad  is  due  to  his  "labor"  or  to 
any  conciliatory,  persuasive,  or  industrial  influence 
exerted  by  him  is  comically  erroneous,  in  view  of  the 
facts  which  are  of  record  relative  to  this  subject,  and 
also  it  is  impudent.  Decisive  professional  successes  were 
gained  by  American  actors,  not  only  in  England,  but  in 
other  countries  of  Europe,  long  before  the  birth  of 
Mr.  Frohman,  and,  although  it  is  true  that  the  English, 
in  general,  prefer  their  own  artists,  in  every  branch  of 
art,  American  actors  deserving  of  acceptance,  by  reason 
of  unique  or  exceptional  ability  and  character,  have 
obtained  it  in  that  country,  any  time  within  a  hundred 
years. 

Mr.  Frohman  is  a  clever  man  of  business  and  his 
career  has  been  industrious  in  commercial  speculation, 
various,  picturesque,  and  fortunate.  He  is  a  native  of 
Sandusky,  Ohio,  born  June  17,  1860.  His  important 
theatrical  enterprise  began  in  1888,  when  he  acquired 
control  of  the  late  Bronson  Howard's  striking  and  pop- 
ular war  drama  of  "Shenandoah," — a  play  that  proved 
abundantly  remunerative.  Since  that  time  he  has  dealt 
largely  in  plays  and  still  more  largely  in  actors*  both 
English  and  American,  and  many  of  his  trade  ventures, 
especially  of  late  years,  have  been  very  profitable. 
He  has  established  a  fine  theatre,  the  Empire,  in  New 


G08  APPENDIX 

York;  has  obtained  control  of  other  local  playhouses; 
and,  in  co-operation  with  other  speculators,  has  gained 
dominance  of  a  chain  of  theatres  extending  through- 
out a  large  part  of  America;  and,  for  many  years,  he 
has  thus  exerted  a  potent  and  often  inauspicious  influ- 
ence on  the  character  and  development  of  the  Ameri- 
can Stage.  A  theatrical  manager  of  the  intellectual 
order, — typified  by  such  men  as  Dunlap,  Caldwell, 
Simpson,  Barry,  Wood,  McVicker,  Ellsler,  Jefferson, 
Warren,  Wallack,  Booth,  Irving,  and  Augustin  Daly, — 
he  has  not  endeavored  to  be, — certainly  he  has  never 
been.  His  course  has  emulated  that  of  such  men  as 
Jarrett,  Haverley,  and  Abbey.  He  has,  under  the  rough 
instruction  of  experience,  learned  much,  and  he  occu- 
pies a  position  in  which  he  possesses  the  power  of 
doing  great  good  to  the  Theatre  and  the  public  and  of 
earning  high  renown,  but  some  of  the  startling  dis- 
coveries which  he  has  proclaimed  indicate  that  he  has 
yet  much  to  learn.  Not  long  ago,  adventuring  in  the 
field  of  Shakespearean  commentary,  for  example,  he 
pictured  that  great  poet  as  a  vulgar,  dishonest,  the- 
atrical speculator,  and  announced  that  Shakespeare 
exhibits  "the  sensuousness  of  Swinburne  and  the  eroti- 
cism of  Oscar  Wilde  thrown  in"  and  that  "when  things 
were  getting  a  bit  slow  Shakespeare  would  not  scruple 
to  please  the  people  by  inserting  a  vile  joke."  Among 
all  his  freakish  announcements,  however,  none  is 
more     preposterous     than     his     bland     deliverance,     "I 


APPENDIX  609 

have  actually  got  them  to  accept  American  actors 
abroad." 

Some  American  actors  have  failed  to  attract  par- 
ticular attention  in  Great  Britain,  precisely  as  some 
foreign  actors  have  failed  to  attract  particular  atten- 
tion in  America,  but  the  instances  of  success  gained 
by  American  actors  on  the  British  Stage  are  many  and 
instructive,  nor  has  such  success  been  unknown  on  the 
Continental  Stage.  Hackett  made  a  professional  visit 
to  the  old  country, — the  first  of  several  visits, — in 
1827;  Forrest  in  1836,  and  again  in  1844-'45;  Char- 
lotte Cushman  in  1844-'45;  E.  L.  Davenport  and  Mrs. 
Mowatt  in  1847;  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Barney  Williams  in 
1855;  Mr.  and  Mrs.  William  J.  Florence  in  1856;  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Harry  Watkins  in  1860;  Edwin  Booth  in 
1860-'61,  in  1880,  and  in  1882;  Joseph  Jefferson  in 
1865,  and  again  in  1875-'76;  Mary  Anderson  in 
1883-'85,  and  again  in  1886-'88;  Ada  Rehan  in  1884, 
1886,  1888,  1890,  1893,  1896,  and  1897,— and  all  of 
them  were  received  with  cordial  favor  and  were  richly 
rewarded.  John  S.  Clarke  leased  and  managed,  in  suc- 
cession, the  Charing  Cross,  the  Haymarket,  and  the 
Strand  theatres,  and  had  a  highly  distinguished  and 
remunerative  career  there  as  both  manager  and  actor. 

James  H.  Hackett,  one  of  the  most  distinguished  of 
American  comedians  in  the  second  and  third  Quarters 
of  the  nineteenth  century,  made  professional  visits  to 
England  in  1827,   1832,   1840,   1845,  and   1851,  and  he 


610  APPENDIX 

was  much  followed  and  warmly  admired  there,  equally 
by  the  press  and  the  public.  He  was  only  twenty-seven 
years  old  when  he  made  his  first  foreign  venture,  and 
he  had  then  been  only  a  short  time  on  the  stage,  but  he 
had  gained  signal  success  in  the  impersonation  of  dia- 
lect parts,  "Yankee"  and  French,  had  made  a  brilliant 
hit  by  his  performance  of  one  of  the  Dromios, — in  asso- 
ciation with  the  popular  and  famous  John  Barnes, — 
and  had  appeared  as  Falstaff,  in  which  part  he  subse- 
quently became  eminent  and  eclipsed  all  rivalry.  In 
London  he  acted  at  the  Surrey  Theatre  and  also  at 
Drury  Lane  and  Covent  Garden.  His  imitations  of  the 
elder  Mathews,  Edmund  Kean,  and  other  notable  actors 
of  the  time  were  accounted  extraordinarily  truthful 
and  fine  and  were  greatly  admired.  His  Falstaff  was 
accepted  by  the  English  critics  with  even  greater 
warmth  of  commendation  than  had  been  evinced  by 
his  critical  admirers  at  home.  He  was  the  fourth  of 
the  eight  successive  notable  representatives  of  Rip 
Van  Winkle,  and  until  the  rise  of  Jefferson,  who  was 
the  eighth  in  that  character,  he  held  absolute  prefer- 
ence as  the  best.  His  acting  of  Sir  Pertinax  Macsyco- 
phant,  in  Macklin's  comedy  of  "The  Man  of  .the  World," 
is  remembered  as  wonderfully  expositive  alike  of 
Scotch  peculiarities  and  the  selfish  craft  of  which 
human  nature  is  capable.  Hackett  was  an  actor  of 
extraordinary  ability,  and  as  such  he  obtained  the 
amplest  recognition  in  England  as  well  as  in  America. 


APPENDIX  611 

Edwin  Forrest  (1806-1872),  a  man  of  extraordinary 
ability,  touched  with  genius,  was  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  actors  of  whom  there  is  any  record.  He 
made  his  first  regular  professional  appearance  in  1820, 
when  yet  the  Republic  was  in  its  infancy;  he  was  one 
of  the  earliest  of  American  actors  to  venture  on  the 
London  Stage,  and  it  was  with  reference  to  him  that 
the  cry  first  gained  currency  that  actors  from  America 
always  fail  in  England,  because  always  unappreciated 
and   unfairly   treated   there. 

Forrest  made  two  professional  visits  to  that  country, 
and  was  heartily  welcomed.  His  acting,  indeed,  was  not 
admired  by  everybody:  no  acting  has  ever  yet  met  with 
universal  approbation:  but,  relatively,  Forrest  was  as 
well  received  in  England  as  Salvini,  at  a  later  time, 
was  received  in  America,  and  London  honored  him  far 
more  than  New  York,  in  our  day,  has  honored,  for 
example,  John  Hare  or  Edward  Terry, — two  of  the 
most  accomplished  impersonators  that  have  appeared 
on  our  Stage.  Greed  of  admiration,  however,  is,  in 
some  cases,  insatiate.  Forrest,  although  he  obtained 
great  fame  and  ample  fortune,  was  never  satisfied  with 
the  recognition  that  he  had  received,  and  Forrest's 
admirers,  to  this  day,  are  enraged,  precisely  as  he  was, 
at  even  the  least  dissent  from  the  estimate  which  would 
rank  him  as  the  greatest  of  actors.  At  the  height 
of  his  popularity,  when  he  was  performing  at  the 
old   Broadway    Theatre,   being   incensed   by   the   publi- 


612  APPENDIX 

cation  of  certain  strictures  from  the  pen  of  Mr.  Wil- 
liam Stuart,  he  said  to  his  business  agent  and  devoted 
follower,  Joseph  McArdle:  "Why  don't  you  kill  him? 

him!    Throw  him  over  the  gallery 

rail!"  No  doubt,  in  that  case,  he  had  cause  for  anger, 
since  the  strictures  were  wantonly  hostile  and  malicious, 
but,  unhappily  for  his  peace,  advancement,  and  reputa- 
tion, ferocious  resentment  of  adverse  opinion  was  chronic 
with  him,  arising  out  of  the  overweening  egotism  which 
predominated  in  his  character. 

Within  distinct  limitations  Forrest  was  a  great  actor, 
nor  was  that  fact  ever  seriously  disputed  by  any  con- 
siderable authority,  but  neither  he  nor  his  followers 
could  tolerate  any  qualification  of  encomium.  Adver- 
sity of  criticism  meant  "conspiracy  to  ruin."  That, 
invariably,  was  Forrest's  view  of  the  matter.  He  was 
incapable  of  comprehending  that  there  could  be  any 
ground  of  reasonable  dissent  from  his  ideals  of  char- 
acter or  his  histrionic  style.  The  newspaper  opposition, 
such  as  it  was,  that  he  encountered  when  acting  in 
London  he  promptly  attributed  to  a  hostile  influence, 
privately  exercised  by  the  tragedian  Macready.  He 
rose  in  a  box  at  a  theatre  in  Edinburgh  and  loudly 
hissed  Macready's  performance  of  Hamlel,  and  when 
Macready  came  to  act  in  New  York  his  course  of  con- 
duct indirectly  led  to  the  terrible  Astor  Place  riots, 
in  1849,  in  which  twenty- two  persons  were  killed  and 
many  others  injured.    Yet  Forrest's  English  experience 


APPENDIX  613 

was  such  as  ought  to  have  satisfied  rational  desire  and 
expectation. 

"The  London  Chronicle,"  for  example,  of  October  17, 
1836,  recorded  his  first  appearance  in  that  capital,  say- 
ing that  it  was  made 

"Before  one  of  the  most  crowded  audiences  ever  assembled 
in  any  theatre,  and  elicited  those  enthusiastic  testimonials  of 
success  which  have  stamped  him  one  of  the  greatest  actors  that 
ever  graced  the  English  Stage.  ...  On  his  entree  the  whole 
house  rose  and  gave  him  three  times  three.  .  .  .  His  reception 
was  more  flattering  than  his  most  sanguine  friends  could  have 
anticipated.    ..." 

The  exigent  "Atheneeum"  greeted  Forrest's  perform- 
ance of  Othello  as  superior  to  that  of  Edmund  Kean, 
which  had  been  deemed  perfection,  and  was  still  fresh  in 
public  remembrance,  Kean  having  then  been  only  three 
years  dead.  Later,  in  1845,  the  usually  caustic,  cen- 
sorious Douglas  Jerrold,  descanting  on  Forrest's  im- 
personation of  King  Lear,  enthusiastically  testified: 

"A  more  truthful,  feeling,  and  artistic  display  of  genuine 
acting  we  have  never  witnessed.  .  .  .  Mr.  Forrest  has  stamped 
himself  as  a  man  of  genius.  We  candidly  confess  we  did  not 
think  it  was  in  him,  and  we  were  much  electrified,  as  was  every 
one  in  the  house.  .  .  .  His  Lear  is  equal,  in  every  respect,  to 
that  of  the  two  mighty  tragedians  [John  Philip  Kemble  and 
Edmund  Kean]  whose  names  are  hallowed  by  the  admirers  of 
genius.     We  think  we  can  scarcely  bestow  higher  praise." 

Extraordinary  success  was  gained  in  London  by  "Jim 
Crow  Rice," — as  he  was  generally  called.     Thomas  D. 


614  APPENDIX 

Rice  (1806-1860)  was  a  native  of  New  York,  from 
which  place,  in  his  youth,  he  migrated  to  the  West.  At 
twenty  he  was  employed  by  N.  M.  Ludlow,  as  assistant 
prompter,  at  a  theatre  in  Mobile,  and  there  his  pro- 
fessional experience  began.  He  attracted  notice  by  act- 
ing Wormwood,  in  J.  B.  Buckstone's  farce  of  "The 
Lottery  Ticket,"  and  Old  Delf,  in  the  farce  of  "Family 
Jars."  His  Wormwood  was  said,  by  Ludlow,  to  be  an 
imitation  of  the  versatile  James  B.  Roberts  in  that 
part,  and  his  Delf  an  imitation  of  the  famous  comedian 
John  Barnes,  who  had  made  a  special  hit  in  it.  Later 
he  acted  at  Louisville,  still  under  Ludlow's  manage- 
ment, and  there  he  first  essayed  the  negro  character 
in  which,  subsequently,  he  gained  fame  and  fortune. 
He  had  seen  an  old  negro  slave,  the  property  of  a  stable- 
keeper  in  that  city,  named  Crow.  The  negro  had 
adopted  that  name.  He  was  old  and  deformed,  his 
deformity  causing  him  to  limp,  in  a  ludicrous  manner, 
as  he  walked,  and  he  was  accustomed  to  croon  a  sort 
of  melody  and  "set  his  heel  a-rockin'   '  with  this  refrain: 

"Wheel  about,  turn  about,  do  jes'  so, 
And  ebery  time  I  wheel  about  I  jump  Jim  Crow!" 

Rice  conceived  the  idea  of  making  that  character  the 
basis  of  a  performance  new  to  the  stage.  He  wrote 
words  for  singing,  elaborated  the  dance,  "made  up" 
on  the  model  of  the  old  slave,  and,  appearing  before 
a   Louisville   audience,   made  a   prodigious   hit.     After 


APPENDIX  615 

his  first  performance  of  Jim  Crow  he  was  recalled  to 
the  stage  twenty  times.     He  subsequently  visited  many 
American  cities,  winning  applause  wherever  he  appeared, 
and   eventually   he  went   to   London,   where   he   earned 
a    fortune.      He    was    a    convivial    man,    and    not    less 
eccentric    than    convivial.       It    pleased    him    to    wear 
gold    pieces, — sovereigns   and    the    like, — as   buttons    on 
his  garments,  and  not  infrequently  the  boon  companions 
into  whose  hands  he  fell  would  stupefy  him  with  liquor 
and  then  rob  him  of  those  ornaments.     His  popularity 
was   very   great.     He   was   not   simply   an   entertainer; 
he  was  an  artist.     He  wrote  several  plays,  among  them 
a  "Travesty  of  Othello"  and  a  musical  burlesque  called 
"Bone  Squash."     His  example  prompted  the  establish- 
ment of  Negro  Minstrelsy  in  London.     He  married,  in 
that   city,    a    daughter    of    Gladstane,    manager    of    the 
old  Surrey  Theatre.     His  death  occurred  in  New  York, 
in  1860.    The  first  appearance  of  the  great  comedian  the 
late    Joseph    Jefferson    was    made    in    association    with 
Rice,    who,    at    Washington,    in    1833,    Jefferson    being 
then  only  four  years  old,  carried  him  on  in  a  sack  and 
dumped  him  on  the  stage,  as  a  negro  boy,  "made  up" 
in  exact  imitation  of  himself,  at  the  same  time  singing 
this  couplet, 

"Ladies  and  gem'men,  I'd  have  you  for  to  know, 
I'se  got  a  little  darkey  here,  to  jump  Jim  Crow!" 

Charlotte    Cushman,    among    tragic    performers    the 
greatest   actress   that   America   has   produced,    made    a 


616  APPENDIX 

professional  visit  to  England  in  1844.  She  had  been 
on  the  stage  about  eight  years,  having  begun  her 
dramatic  career  in  1835,  at  New  Orleans,  as  Lady 
Macbeth  (she  had  previously,  in  that  year,  appeared 
as  a  singer,  beginning  in  "Almaviva"),  but,  although 
she  had  worked  hard  and  gained  ample  professional 
proficiency,  she  had  not  obtained  recognition  com- 
mensurate with  her  desert,  and,  although  she  had 
lived  very  frugally,  her  savings,  after  that  long  period 
of  labor,  did  not  exceed  five  hundred  dollars.  With 
that  small  capital  she  nevertheless  determined  to  make 
a  daring  venture  in  a  foreign  land.  She  possessed, 
however,  other  and  better  resources  than  that  of  money. 
She  was  a  woman  of  genius,  massive  character,  and 
resolute,  indomitable  will.  She  did  not  present  her- 
self in  London  as  a  suppliant;  she  demanded  oppor- 
tunity as  a  competent  artist.  The  opportunity  was 
not  at  once  conceded:  she  was  obliged  to  wait, — to 
endure  solicitude  through  a  period  of  suspense  that 
might  well  have  subdued  a  less  valorous  spirit;  but  an 
opening  came  at  last,  and  she  appeared,  February  14, 
1845,  as  Bianca,  in  Dean  Milman's  tragedy  of  "Fazio." 
The  performance  was  decisive,  the  success  -prodigious. 
Eighteen  days  later,  writing  to  her  mother,  she  recorded, 
in  this  expressive  sentence,  the  result  of  her  venture, 
"All  my  successes  put  together  since  I  have  been  upon 
the  stage  would  not  come  near  my  success  in  London" 
One  newspaper,  "The  Sun,"  declared,  "Since  the  memo- 


APPENDIX  617 

rable  appearance  of  Edmund  Kean,  in  1814,  never  has 
there  been  such  a  debut  on  the  boards  of  an  English 
theatre.'* 

Miss  Cushman,  acting  first  as  Emilia  and  then  as 
Lady  Macbeth,  had  co-operated  with  Forrest,  and  had 
to  such  extent  diverted  immediate  public  attention  from 
the  popular  tragedian,  then  on  his  second  visit  to  the 
British  capital,  that  he  conceived  a  bitter  dislike  for 
her,  which  lasted  all  his  life:  he  would  never  after- 
ward set  foot  on  the  same  stage  with  her.  She  acted 
also  Rosalind,  Beatrice,  Portia,  Mrs.  Holler,  Meg, 
Merrilies,  Lady  Teazle,  and  Julia — in  "The  Hunch- 
back"— and  she  produced  "Romeo  and  Juliet,"  acting 
Romeo  to  the  Juliet  of  her  sister  Susan,  and  making  a 
brilliant  impression.  That  performance  was  given  250 
times,  in  one  season,  1845-'46,  in  London  and  other 
cities.  In  Dublin  she  acted  Viola.  Her  stay  in  Great 
Britain  lasted  five  years,  and  when  she  returned  to 
America,  in  1849,  she  was  welcomed  with  all  the  honors, 
that  could  be  paid  to  a  queen  of  the  stage.  But — she 
had  left  home  with  a  mere  pittance:  she  came  back 
with  a  fortune,  and  with  the  laurel  of  eminent  and 
undying  renown  which,  till  then,  had  been  withheld, 
in  her  own  land. 

James  B.  Roberts  was  another  of  the  American  actors 
who  were  hospitably  received  on  the  English  Stage.  Mr. 
Roberts  went  to  London  in  1857  and  appeared  at 
Drury   Lane,   September   21,   as  Sir   Giles   Overreach, 


618  APPENDIX 

subsequently  making  a  prosperous  tour  of  many  cities 
of  England,  Scotland,  and  Ireland. 

Edwin  Booth,  distinctively  a  tragedian,  and  as  such 
the  greatest  of  his  day,  was,  beyond  question,  a  repre- 
sentative American  actor,  and  remembrance  of  the 
reception  which  was  accorded  to  him  in  England  should, 
by  itself,  be  sufficient  to  dispel  the  mistaken  idea  that 
the  English  public  has  been  hostile  to  American  actors. 
Edwin  Booth,  on  the  occasion  of  his  first  professional 
visit  to  England,  made  in  1861,  appeared  at  the  Hay- 
market  Theatre,  London,  first  as  Shylock,  later  as  Sir 
Giles  Overreach,  and  lastly  as  Richelieu.  At  the  begin- 
ning of  his  engagement  the  press  was  frigid,  but  the 
public  welcomed  and  cheered  him.  At  the  close  his 
performance  of  Richelieu,  not  in  our  time  equalled, 
caused  great  enthusiasm.  After  acting  in  London 
he  appeared  in  Liverpool  and  Manchester,  and  it  is 
interesting  to  remember  that  in  the  latter  city  he 
met  for  the  first  time  Henry  Irving,  who  was  a 
member  of  a  stock-company  there,  and  who  acted 
writh  him  in  several  plays,  one  of  which  was  "Hamlet." 
The  cloud  caused  by  the  American  Civil  War  was  dark 
over  the  world  at  that  time,  and  ''Yankees"  were  not 
generally  popular  in  England;  for  which  reason  Booth 
was  not  encouraged  to  prolong  his  tour.  His  second 
professional  visit  to  England  was  made  nearly  twenty 
years  later,  when  he  appeared,  November  6,  1880,  at 
the    Princess'    Theatre,    London,    as    Hamlet.      I    had 


APPENDIX  619 

used  the  privilege  of  an  old  and  intimate  friend, 
earnestly  advising  him  to  begin  his  London  season  in 
the  character  of  Richelieu,  but  unhappily  he  listened 
to  the  injudicious  counsel  of  his  wife  (Mary  McVicker), 
an  impulsive,  belligerent  lady,  who  meant  well  but 
possessed  no  tact,  and,  by  choosing  Hamlet,  he  made 
the  needless  and  hurtful  mistake  of  challenging  com- 
parison with  the  reigning  favorite  of  the  English  Stage. 
Henry  Irving  had  given  two  hundred  consecutive  repre- 
sentations of  Hamlet  and  had  established  a  prodigious 
renown  in  that  character,  and  no  actor,  even  though 
an  angel  from  heaven,  would,  at  that  time,  have  been 
accepted  as  his  rival  in  it.  Booth  subsequently  told 
me  that,  being  informed  of  a  hostile  element  in  the 
theatre,  and  stimulated  to  resent  and  brave  it,  he  was 
in  no  fit  mood  for  acting  Hamlet,  and  that  his  first 
London  performance  of  the  part  was  metallic  and  inflex- 
ible and,  to  himself,  one  of  the  most  unsatisfactory 
that  he  ever  gave.  It  was  coldly  received,  but  pre- 
sentments of  Richelieu,  Iago,  Bertuccio,  and  King  Lear, 
given  later,  evoked  abundant  sympathy  and  ample 
recognition.  His  engagement  at  the  Princess'  Theatre 
continued  for  one  hundred  and  nineteen  nights.  Then 
came  one  of  the  most  interesting  incidents  in  theatrical 
history.  Booth  formed  the  plan  of  giving  a  series  of 
afternoon  performances,  and  he  expressed  to  Irving  the 
wish  to  give  those  performances  at  the  Lyceum  Theatre. 
Irving  assented,  but  later  suggested  that  a  production 


620  APPENDIX 

should  be  effected  of  the  tragedy  of  "Othello,"  in  which 
both  of  them  could  participate,  alternating  the  char- 
acters of  Othello  and  Iago.  Booth  cordially  concurred 
in  this  project  and  on  May  2,  1881,  "Othello"  was  per- 
formed at  the  Lyceum,  Booth  appearing  as  the  Moor, 
Irving,  for  the  first  time  on  any  stage,  as  Iago,  and 
Ellen  Terry  as  Desdemona.  The  representation  was 
accounted  exceptionally  fine.  The  two  chieftains  were 
deemed  about  equal  in  excellence.  When,  however,  they 
exchanged  characters  and  Irving  acted  Othello  to  the 
Iago  of  Booth,  the  dominance  of  the  American  actor 
was  generally  conceded, — not  that  his  Iago  was  thought 
to  surpass  that  of  Irving,  but  that  Irving's  Othello, 
compared  with  Booth's,  was  thought  to  be  ineffective. 
The  Lyceum  engagement  of  Booth  lasted  four  weeks. 
The  business  was  extraordinary, — the  prices  being 
raised,  in  the  balcony,  from  five  to  ten  shillings,  in 
the  stalls  from  ten  and  six  to  one  guinea,  the  boxes 
from  one  guinea  to  five,  and  all  the  reserved  seats  in 
the  theatre  being  sold  before  the  engagement  began. 
The  occasion  was  one  of  the  greatest  public  enthusiasm 
and  of  memorable  interest. 

On  the  German  Stage  Edwin  Booth's  success  was 
prodigious.  He  appeared  January  11,  1883,  at  the 
Residenz  Theater,  Berlin,  and  afterward  acted  in  Ham- 
burg, Bremen,  Hanover,  Leipsic,  and  Vienna,  and  in 
each  of  those  cities  he  had  a  royal  welcome.  At  the 
close  of  his  engagement  in  Berlin  the  German  actors 


APPENDIX  621 

with  whom  he  had  been  associated  presented  him  with 
a  crown  of  silver  laurel  leaves,  inscribed,  "To  the 
unrivalled  artist,  Edwin  Booth."  At  Hamburg  the 
Director  and  Members  of  the  Company  of  the  Thalia 
gave  him  a  spray  of  silver  laurel  leaves.  At  Bremen 
his  German  associates  gave  him  another  crown  of 
silver  laurel  leaves,  inscribed,  "To  the  Great  Artist, 
Edwin  Booth."  At  Leipsic  the  members  of  the  com- 
pany gave  him  a  wreath  of  laurel  in  silver.  On  each 
occasion  the  presentation  was  made  with  an  address 
of  warm  congratulation.  Immediately  after  his  first 
performance  in  Berlin  Booth  wrote  to  me  the  following 
letter,  which  provides  an  instructive  commentary  on 
the  notion  that  "acceptance"  of  American  actors 
abroad  has  only  lately  been  accorded: 

"My  dear  Will: — I  have  just  accomplished  the  one  great 
object  of  my  professional  aspiration.  'Tis  after  one  o'clock  and 
I  am  very  weary,  but  cannot  go  to  bed  without  a  line  to 
you.  .  .  .  O,  I  wish  you  had  been  present  to-night!  When  I 
am  cooler  I  will  try  to  give  you  a  full  account  of  the  night's  work. 
The  actors  as  well  as  the  audience  were  very  enthusiastic,  many 
of  them  kissing  my  hands  and  thanking  me  over  and  over  again, — 
for  what  I  know  not,  unless  it  was  because  they  recognized  in 
me  a  sincere  disciple  of  their  idol  Shakespeare.  .  .  .  Well,  this 
is  the  realization  of  my  twenty  years'  dream.  What  shall  I  do 
now?  Act  in  Italy  and  France?  No.  .  .  .  Good-night.  God 
bless  you.  Edwin." 

Throughout  his  German  tour,  although  he  played  at 
the  terrible  disadvantage  of  speaking  in  English,  while 


622  APPENDIX 

his  associates  spoke  in  German,  Booth  attracted  and 
delighted  great  crowds,  and  he  was  warmly  extolled 
in  the  press.  At  the  end  of  his  tour  he  was  invited 
and  urged  to  act  in  Italy,  Spain,  France,  and  Russia, 
hut  he  declined, — preferring  to  return  home.  Great  as 
Booth's  hold  was  upon  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen, 
he  never  wTas  more  entirely  "accepted"  than  hy  the 
public  of  Germany. 

The  great  success  in  Great  Britain  gained  by  Mary 
Anderson  has  not  been  forgotten.  That  remarkable 
actress  made  her  first  appearance  in  London,  in  1883, 
at  the  Lyceum  Theatre,  acting  Parthenia,  in  the  old 
play  of  "Ingomar,"  by  Mrs.  Lovell,  and  subsequently 
she  appeared  as  Galatea  and  as  Juliet.  No  performer 
could  have  wished  for  a  warmer  welcome  than  was 
extended  to  her  by  the  British  public  and  press,  or  for 
more  generous  favor  than  that  which  steadily  followed 
her  performances,  wherever  she  appeared.  Her  imper- 
sonation of  Juliet  was  accepted  in  London  with  heartiest 
approbation,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  the  great  and 
exceedingly  popular  actress  Ellen  Terry  had,  only  a 
year  before,  been  acclaimed  superb  in  the  same  character. 
Three  of  Miss  Anderson's  most  brilliant  performances 
were  shown  in  England  before  they  were  shown  in 
America,  and  they  proved  to  be  three  of  her  most 
decided  and  financially  remunerative  successes, — those, 
namely,  of  Rosalind,  in  "As  You  Like  It,"  given  at 
Stratford-upon-Avon,  August  29,  1884,  and  Hermione 


APPENDIX  623 

and  Perdita,  in  "The  Winter's  Tale,"  given  at  Notting- 
ham, April  23,  1887.  At  the  London  Lyceum  she  sub- 
sequently acted  in  "The  Winter's  Tale"  from  Sep- 
tember 10,  1887,  to  March  24,  1888,  giving  one  hundred 
and  sixty-six  consecutive  performances — a  longer  run 
than  that  comedy  had  ever  enjoyed  before  or  has  ever 
enjoyed  since. 

Another  signal  success  of  American  theatrical  advent- 
ure in  Great  Britain  was  achieved  by  Ada  Rehan. 
Augustin  Daly  presented  that  brilliant  actress  in  Lon- 
don, for  the  first  time,  long  before  Mr.  Frohman  had 
entered  the  vocation  of  theatrical  management.  Miss 
Rehan  appeared,  July  19,  1884,  at  Toole's  Theatre,  and 
she  acted  there  for  several  weeks,  but  the  engagement 
was  not  entirely  successful.  Daly,  although  dissatisfied, 
was  not  discouraged.  On  May  27,  1886,  he  again 
brought  out  Miss  Rehan  in  London,  and  she  played 
at  the  Strand  for  nine  weeks.  On  May  3,  1888,  she 
appeared  at  the  Gaiety  Theatre,  in  "The  Railroad  of 
Love,"  and  on  May  29,  that  year,  for  the  first  time  in 
Great  Britain,  she  acted  at  that  theatre  as  Katharine, 
in  "The  Taming  of  the  Shrew."  Her  splendid  per- 
formance of  that  part  and  Daly's  brilliant  production 
of  that  play  made  their  victory  complete.  The  play 
ran  until  July  31,  and  on  August  3  Miss  Rehan  acted 
at  the  Shakespeare  Memorial  Theatre,  at  Stratford,  as 
Katharine, 

Daly's    aspiring    mind    was    not    yet    satisfied.      He 


624.  APPENDIX 

took  Miss  Relian  and  his  company  to  Edinburgh  and 
thence  to  Glasgow,  where  they  were  received  with 
enthusiasm, — even  the  austere  Edinburgh  "Scotsman" 
declaring  that  the  performance  "disarms  criticism,  on 
account  of  its  excellence  and  variety." 

Daly  next  ventured  on  the  Continent,  and  there 
he  was  rewarded  with  abundant  prosperity.  In  Paris 
the  lack  of  appreciation  that  Mr.  Frohman  intimated 
had  been  shown  toward  American  actors  abroad  was 
expressed  by  crowded  and  enthusiastic  recognition  in 
the  press.    De  la  Pommeroye  said: 

"That  which  strikes  us  above  all,  especially  in  Miss  Rehan,  is 
the  very  visible  preoccupation:  the  American  artists  give  the 
spectator  absolutely  the  illusion  of  reality.  In  this  respect  the 
comedians  of  Mr.  Daly  go  very  much  further  than  our  French 
artists." 

In  Hamburg  and  Berlin  the  welcome  accorded  to  the 
American  actors  was  equally  cordial,  and  the  success 
of  Daly's  venture  was  decisive.  The  intrepid  man- 
ager, however,  was  not  content,  although  he  had 
established  his  company  of  American  artists  as  a  recog- 
nized institution  in  London.  On  June  10,  1890, 
he  presented  Miss  Rehan  and  her  associates  in  that 
capital  in  "As  You  Like  It,"  and  the  beautiful  comedy 
ran  continuously  for  ten  weeks  at  the  Lyceum 
Theatre.  Pie  then  determined  to  have  a  theatre  of  his 
own  in  England.  On  October  30,  1891,  the  cornerstone 
of  it  was  laid,  by  Miss  Rehan,  and,  on  June  27,  1893, 


APPENDIX  625 

after  having  met  and  overcome  many  difficulties,  he 
opened  Daly's  Theatre,  Leicester  Square, — Miss  Rehan 
appearing  first  as  Katharine  and  then, — winning  a 
remarkable  triumph, — as  Viola.  "Twelfth  Night"  had 
one  hundred  and  eleven  consecutive  performances,  and 
during  the  same  engagement,  besides  successful  pres- 
entations of  other  plays,  more  than  fifty  performances 
were  given  of  "The  School  for  Scandal." 

Daly  did  not  again  present  Miss  Rehan  at  his  Lon- 
don theatre,  because  it  was  occupied,  almost  without 
cessation,  by  other  ventures,  in  which  he  was  a  partner, 
and  which  were  so  successful  that  he  did  not  choose 
to  disturb  them;  but  he  presented  her  and  his  com- 
pany in  London,  in  1896,  and  in  1897  they  made  a 
triumphant  tour,  beginning  at  Stratford-upon-Avon, 
with  an  open-air  performance  of  "As  You  Like  It," 
and  visiting,  in  succession,  Newcastle,  Nottingham,  Bir- 
mingham, Edinburgh,  Glasgow,  London,  Liverpool,  and 
Manchester. 

When  Daly  died,  in  1899,  the  most  valuable  part 
of  his  estate  proved  to  be  his  London  theatre,  and 
when  finally  that  estate  was  settled  the  share  of 
profits  of  Daly's  Theatre,  London,  subsequent  to  1897, 
awarded  to  his  heirs,  exceeded  a  quarter  of  a  million 
dollars.  It  should  be  remarked,  furthermore,  that 
Daly's  Theatre  was  not  a  pretentious  "repertory  the- 
atre" and  that  it  did  not  fail,  leaving  a  burden  of 
debt  to  be  borne  by  a  confiding  silent  partner,  as  hap- 


626  APPENDIX 

pened  in  another  case,  when  another  American  theatrical 
manager  opened  a  theatre  there.  It  was  a  legitimate 
theatrical  institution,  built  and  maintained  by  the  indom- 
itable courage,  enterprise,  sagacity,  and  money  of  one 
of  the  ablest  and  most  accomplished  theatrical  managers 
America   has   produced. 

Anna  Cora  Mowatt  and  Edward  Loomis  Davenport 
made  their  first  appearance  in  England,  in  1847,  at 
Manchester,  acting  in  "The  Lady  of  Lyons."  Mrs. 
Mowatt  had  been  on  the  stage  for  only  two  years, 
Davenport  for  eleven.  The  latter  was  comparatively  a 
veteran.  After  their  first  performance  at  Manchester 
had  ended  the  manager  of  the  theatre  there,  old  Knowles, 
addressed  himself  to  Davenport,  saying,  "You  are  the 
star,  not  Mrs.  Mowatt,  and  your  name  shall  stand 
first,"  and,  accordingly,  the  change  was  made  by  the 
manager's  order.  That  incident  the  actor  himself, 
many  years  ago,  related  to  me.  The  English  vent- 
ure of  those  American  actors,  after  they  had  sur- 
mounted the  obstacle  of  a  frigid  reception  in  London, 
proved  fortunate  in  every  respect.  Mrs.  Mowatt's  plays 
of  "Fashion"  and  "Armand"  were  produced  in  London, 
and  she  became  very  popular,  both  there  and  in  the 
provinces,  as  "the  American  lily."  Davenport  won  his 
way  to  signal  distinction,  acting,  among  other  parts, 
lago,  Mercutio,  Benedick,  Orlando,  Valentine,  Velasco, 
Virginius,  Ingomar,  and  William  (in  "Black-ey'd 
Susan").     He  was  a  great  actor,  and  the  scope  of  a 


APPENDIX  627 

volume  would  be  required  in  which  to  do  justice  to  his 
versatile  abilities  and  extraordinary  achievement.  Mrs. 
Mowatt  remained  in  England  till  1851,  Davenport 
till  1853. 

The  successes  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Barney  Williams  and 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  W.  J.  Florence  were  obtained  in  the 
representation  of  Irish  and  Yankee  characters.  Williams 
was  the  best  representative  of  the  Irish  peasant  lad 
that  old  playgoers  had  seen  since  the  time  of  the  elder 
John  Drew,  and  Florence  could  express  essentially 
Irish  humor  and  pathos  in  a  way  to  make  his  auditors 
smile  through  their  tears.  Mrs.  Williams  was  per-, 
fection  as  the  bouncing  "Yankee  Gal,"  and  Mrs.  Flor- 
ence possessed  an  exuberance  of  sparkling  mirth  which 
the  multitude  found  irresistible.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Watkins 
acted  in  melodrama  and  comedy,  and  they  were  popular 
in  Great  Britain  during  all  the  time  of  their  stay  there, 
1860  to   1863. 

Two  notable  American  theatrical  ventures  in  Eng- 
land that  missed  a  substantial  reward  were  those  of 
Lawrence  Barrett,  in  1881,  and  Richard  Mansfield,  in 
1888-'89,  but  not  in  either  case  was  the  lack  of  monetary 
remuneration  attributable  to  public  antipathy.  Barrett 
was  unlucky  in  appearing  at  the  London  Lyceum  soon 
after  a  death  in  the  royal  family, — that  of  the  Duke 
of  Albany, — had  caused  a  season  of  mourning, v  during 
which  the  routine  of  business  was  disturbed  and  theatre- 
going  was,  in  a  considerable  measure,  discontinued.    The 


, 


628  APPENDIX 

acting  of  Barrett,  meanwhile,  was  much  admired.  He 
played  Yorich  and  Cardinal  Richelieu.  His  engage- 
ment was  brief,  though  exactly  filling  the  time  originally 
engaged.  Henry  Irving,  returning  from  America,  suc- 
ceeded him  at  the  Lyceum  Theatre,  reviving  his  splen- 
did production  of  "Much  Ado  About  Nothing."  Bar- 
rett was  present  as  a  spectator,  on  the  opening  night, 
and  when  he  was  seen,  in  one  of  the  stage  boxes,  the 
great  audience, — Irving's  own  particular  audience, 
assembled  to  do  honor  to  its  idol, — rose  and  cheered 
the  American  actor  with  vociferous  enthusiasm,  until  he 
was  compelled  to  come  forward  and  bow  in  acknowl- 
edgment of  the  public  greeting.  Mansfield  was 
unlucky  in  the  choice  that  he  made  of  plays  in  which  to 
win  his  English  auditory.  He  began  with  "Dr.  Jekyll 
and  Mr.  Hyde"  and  he  supplemented  that  horror  with 
the  hateful  "A  Parisian  Romance."  Neither  was  liked, 
though  Mansfield's  acting  in  both  was  recognized  as 
original  and  powerful.  His  later  performance  of 
Prince  Karl  was  heartily  relished,  and  he  might  have 
continued  playing  that  part  in  London  for  many  weeks. 
He  chose  to  produce  "King  Richard  III.,"  a  play 
which,  though  produced  by  scores  of  actors,  has  never, 
except  in  one  instance,  been  continuously  prosperous 
for  any  considerable  period, — and  in  producing  it,  with 
imperial  magnificence,  he  squandered  a  fortune.  His 
genius  and  his  artistic  success,  all  the  same,  were  amply 
recognized  in   England, — more  amply  and  much  more 


APPENDIX  629 

quickly,  when  he  played  Richard,  than  in  America,  which 
was  his  home.  In  Boston  his  presentment  of  it  was 
chilled  with  an  immediate  frost,  and  when,  in  November, 
1889,  he  had  acted  in  Philadelphia,  he  wrote  to  me, 
"The  Philadelphians  are  very  indifferent  and  don't  care 
a  damn  about  this  fine  presentment  of  Shakespeare's 
tragedy." 

William  Gillette  and  his  American  company,  acting 
in  "Secret  Service"  and  in  "Sherlock  Holmes,"  were 
very  warmly  received  in  London;  Miss  Grace  George 
made  "a  palpable  hit"  there,  acting  in  "Divorcons";  and 
if  Mr.  Sothern  and  Miss  Marlowe  did  not  win  an  opu- 
lent success,  it  was  only  because  their  venture  was 
cruelly  mismanaged.  Miss  Marlowe  is  one  of  the  love- 
liest of  romantic  actors,  and,  within  her  proper  field, 
the  peer  of  any  woman  now  in  professional  life.  Mr. 
Sothern  is  an  exceptionally  good  comedian  and  an 
accomplished  "all  round"  actor, — a  good  Hamlet,  an 
admirable  Benedick,  and,  with  one  exception,  Henry 
Irving,  the  best  Malvolio  that  has  been  seen  within  half 
a  century.  Those  actors  should  have  won  golden  reward 
in  England,  and  they  would  have  done  so  if  their  advent 
had  not  been  clouded  by  such  advertising  as  is  serv- 
iceable only  to  a  three-ring  circus  or  a  new  brand  of 
pickles.  By  some  competent  judges  who  saw  them 
their  acting  was  warmly  extolled,  but  their  London 
engagement  was  short,  and  they  did  not  have  sufficient 
time  in  which  to  overcome  the  aversion  which  a  coarse 


630  APPENDIX 

and  singularly  inappropriate  style  of  proclamation  had 
inspired. 

The  failure  of  American  actors  on  the  British  Stage, 
when  they  do  fail  there,  is,  almost  invariably,  attribut- 
able to  one  final,  decisive,  and  sufficient  cause, — namely, 
inadequate  acting  in  an  unattractive  play.  It  should 
always  be  borne  in  mind,  by  aspirants  who  seek  for 
laurel  and  lucre  in  foreign  lands,  that  old  communities, 
with  centuries  of  production  in  all  the  arts  behind  them, 
possess  established  traditions  which  they  do  not  lightly 
discard,  and  that,  having  seen  more  than  can  have  been 
seen  by  communities  of  modern  origin,  they  are  less 
easily  aroused,  less  prone  to  emotion,  and  far  less  ready 
to  be  surprised  into  pleasure  or  to  express  gratification. 
There  is,  in  particular,  a  kind  of  inertia  of  reticence  in 
the  intellectual  class  of  an  English  audience;  the  actor 
is  expected  to  prove  his  case:  but  when  he  does  prove  it, 
as  many  American  actors  have  done,  he  finds  himself 
taken  to  the  English  heart, — "not  with  vain  thanks, 
but  with  acceptance  bounteous,"  and  when  once  he  is  so 
taken  he  is  kept  there. 


III. 

THE  THEATRE  AND  THE  PULPIT. 

The  old  intolerance  toward  the  Stage  has,  of  late 
years,  somewhat  abated:  indeed,  ever  since  the  time 
when  the  Rev.  Dr.  Bellows,  standing  in  his  pulpit, 
spoke  so  eloquently  and  fervently  in  defence  of  the 
dramatic  profession  an  influence  has  been  slowly  ope- 
rant in  the  religious  community  favorable  to  a  just 
and  kindly  view  of  the  Theatre:  yet  the  spirit  of 
bigotry  has  not  been  extinguished.  It  still,  from  time 
to  time,  makes  itself  manifest  in  denunciatory  sermons, 
and  actors  are  still  occasionally  made  to  feel  that  they 
are  regarded,  by  a  considerable  number  of  persons,  as 
the  followers  of  a  disreputable  profession. 

The  proposition  is  incontestable  that  Society  is,  to  a 

large  extent,   corrupt,   and   that   the   spirit   of   our   age 

is    materialistic,    sensual,    and    pagan.      Censors    of    the 

social   order  have  good   ground  for  their   censure,   and 

those  of  them  who,  when  rebuking  the  evil  forces  and 

deploring  the  wrong  proclivities  of  the  day,  include  a 

perverted    Theatre   in   their    condemnation   are    entirely 

justified  by  the  facts  which  they  perceive  and  declare. 

On  the  other  hand,  censors  who  assail  the  Theatre  as  an 

631 


632  APPENDIX 

institution  and  the  Dramatic  Profession  as  a  class, 
alleging  that  the  Stage  is  intrinsically  injurious  and  its 
professors  necessarily  immoral,  assume  a  position  unten- 
able in  the  light  of  truth  and  wantonly,  flagrantly, 
insolently  unjust.  There  are  persons,  however,  who 
assume  that  position  and  habitually  make  those  slan- 
derous charges,  and  many  among  them  are  members  of 
the  "Christian"  Clergy,  ministers  of  the  Gospel  of 
Jesus  Christ,  who,  considering  their  profession,  might 
reasonably  be  expected  to  abhor  the  crime  of  bearing 
false  witness  against  their  fellow  creatures.  It  has 
pleased  certain  persons  of  that  class,  including  self- 
righteous  clergymen,  to  select  articles  in  the  press  writ- 
ten by  me,  condemnatory  of  the  misuse  of  the  Theatre 
by  bad  men,  and  use  them  as  a  justification  for  citing 
and  quoting  me  as  an  enemy  to  the  Stage  and  to  the 
Actor.  That  is  a  wicked  injustice.  The  following 
letter,  which  I  wrote  in  consequence  of  that  gross  mis- 
representation, contains  an  explicit  statement  of  my 
views  on  the  subject,  and  I  reproduce  it  here,  as  an 
act  of  justice  to  myself,  from  "The  New  York  Tribune" 
of  March  15,  1907: 


"To  the  Editor  of  'The  Tribune': 

"Sir: — I  learn  from  an  editorial  comment  in  'The  New  York 
Dramatic  Mirror' — the  leading  dramatic  paper  of  our  country, 
and,  therefore,  an  authority  to  be  trusted — that  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Snowden,  a  clergyman  of  Johnstown,  Pennsylvania,  has  been  mis- 
quoting and  misusing  words  of  mine  as  a  support  and  justifica- 


APPENDIX  633 

tion  of  an  attack  that  he  is  making  upon  the  Theatre  as  an  in- 
stitution, and  that  he  cites  me  as  an  enemy  of  the  Stage. 

"I  do  not  know  what  words  of  mine  have  been  quoted  by  that 
ecclesiastic,  or  in  what  way  they  have  been  distorted  and  mis- 
applied. I  do  know,  and  I  wish  explicitly  to  say,  that  any  repre- 
sentation of  me  as  an  enemy  or  opponent  of  the  Theatre,  or  as 
anything  other  than  a  believer  in  it  and  a  devoted  friend  of  it, 
is  an  impudent  calumny.  Against  abuses  of  the  Theatre  by 
unworthy  persons  who,  from  time  to  time,  have  obtained  control 
of  it  I  have  always  contended.  The  institution  itself  has  always 
received  from  me  all  the  support  that  I  could  possibly  give. 

"  'The  Mirror,' — with  a  mild  forbearance  that  does  not  sup- 
ply the  requisite  energy  of  repudiation  of  this  pulpit  libel, — 
relates  that  'for  nearly  half  a  century'  I  have  been  writing  about 
the  Theatre  and  have  'published  many  books  embodying  graceful 
tributes  to  it  and  to  its  people.'  The  whole  truth  is  that  I  have 
been,  professionally,  and  in  continuous,  active  employment,  a 
writer  about  the  Theatre  for  more  than  fifty  years ;  that  I  am 
the  oldest  dramatic  reviewer,  in  this  country,  in  continuous  service 
of  the  press  as  such;  that  I  have  been  the  Dramatic  Editor  and 
Critic  of  'The  New  York  Tribune'  for  forty-two  years, — come 
July  13,  1907;  that  I  have  passed  the  whole  of  my  life  in 
intimate  relations  with  the  Theatre  and  in  laborious  support  of 
it ;  that  I  have  used  my  utmost  ability  and  industry  to  sustain 
and  advance  it,  and  that  now,  at  more  than  three-score-and-ten, 
I  am  still  its  earnest  advocate  and  still  in  devoted  service  of 
it.  My  writings  about  the  Drama  already  fill  more  than  fifty 
huge  folio  volumes.  And,  although  I  have  strenuously  opposed 
and  attacked  every  misuse  of  the  Theatre  that  I  have  observed, 
the  sum  total  of  my  testimony  is  wholly  and  fervently  in  favor 
of  the  Theatre  and  the  Dramatic  Profession. 

"No  man  could  give  ampler  or  more  practical  proof  than  I 
have  given  of  devotion  to  the  Stage.  My  wife  was,  in  her  youth, 
an  actress  of  distinction,  professionally  associated  with  the  dra- 
matic   companies    of    Edwin    Booth,   James    H.    Plackett,    John 


634,  APPENDIX 

Brougham,  Lester  Wallack,  and  Augustin  Daly.  My  eldest  son, 
Percy,  has  been  an  actor  for  nearly  thirty  years.  My  second 
son,  Arthur, — who  manifested  extraordinary  talent  for  the 
Stage, — would  have  been  an  actor,  had  he  lived.  My  third  son, 
Louis,  was  associated  with  theatrical  management,  and  he  would 
have  continued  in  that  pursuit,  but  for  the  fatal  illness  that 
caused  his  untimely  death.  My  youngest  son,  Jefferson,  is  an 
actor  now,  and  has  been  in  that  profession  for  more  than  twelve 
years;  while  his  wife  (Elsie  Leslie)  has  been  an  actress  from 
her  childhood.  My  dearest  and  most  intimate  friends,  with  a  few 
exceptions,  have  been  actors.  Any  person,  whether  in  the  Pulpit 
or  out  of  it,  who  designates  me  as  an  enemy  of  the  Stage  is  either 
an  ignoramus,  a  fool,  or  a  malicious  liar. 

"I  have  become  extremely  weary  of  the  babble  of  clergymen 
about  the  Theatre.  As  a  rule,  they  know  nothing  whatever 
about  it ;  and  since  they  talk  from  the  pulpit,  where  they  are 
shielded  from  immediate  reply,  they  can  always  safely  indulge  in 
the  utterance  of  blather ;  and  some  of  them  are  always  improving 
the  opportunity.  One  of  them,  not  long  ago,  being  distressed 
because  of  somebody's  silly  proposition  to  name  a  playhouse 
after  William  Penn,  recently  cited  and  of  course  misapplied  words 
of  mine,  from  'The  Tribune,'  thinking  to  strengthen  his  protest 
against  the  association  of  Penn's  name  with  the  Stage  by  repre- 
senting me  as  a  foe  of  the  Drama.  They  cannot,  it  seems,  get 
along  without  dragging  Sir  Lucius  into  the  quarrel.  For  my 
part,  if  what  is  said  in  Macaulay's  History  about  William  Penn 
is  true, — and,  after  careful  consideration,  I  believe  that  it  is, — 
I  think  that  the  disgrace  would  fall  not  on  the  name  of  Penn, 
but  on  the  theatre  that  should  happen  to  be  tagged  with  it. 

"I  believe  the  Theatre,  as  an  institution,  to  be  intrinsically  as 
powerful  for  good  as  the  Church  is ;  and  I  know  that  it  is  far 
more  interesting.  I  believe  that  the  members  of  the  Dramatic 
Profession,  as  a  class,  are  as  moral  and  as  respectable  as  the 
members  of  the  Clergy.  I  believe  that  the  Theatre,  with  all  its 
faults,  which  are  due  to  bad  management  and  bad  public  in- 


APPENDIX  635 

fluence — to  evil  propensities  that  are  in  human  nature — is  of 
great  benefit  to  Society,  and  that,  rightly  administered,  it  is  a 
blessing  to  civilization.  I  also  think  that  Lord  Clarendon  was 
right  when  he  expressed  the  opinion  that  clergymen,  as  a  class, 
in  their  meddlesome  interference  with  public  affairs,  are  the 
most  mischievous  persons  in  the  world.     Yours  truly, 

"William  Winter." 

"No.  17  Third  Avenue,  New  Brighton, 
"Staten  Island,  N.  Y., 

"March  14,  1907." 


It  is  only  natural  that  those  who  set  themselves 
up  as  the  moral  instructors  and  guides  of  their  fellow 
creatures,  and  in  the  security  of  the  pulpit,  under 
the  sheltering  sanction  of  an  assumed  celestial  mandate, 
select  as  a  special  subject  of  their  censure  the  institu- 
tion of  the  Theatre,  should  sometimes  find  themselves, 
as  sometimes  they  do,  directly  antagonized,  and  should 
ascertain  that,  as  Daniel  Webster  once  said,  "  There 
are  blows  to  take  as  well  as  blows  to  give."  The 
denunciatory  deliverances  of  the  Clergy  long  ago  roused 
the  resentment  of  actors,  and  that  resentment  has  shown 
itself  in  many  plays,  ranging  all  the  way  from  the  old 
"King  John"  to  "Tartuffe"  and  "The  Non-Juror"  and 
so  on  to  "Wild  Oats."  It  has  shown  itself,  likewise,  in 
another  and  bitter  way,  namely  in  the  compilation  of 
the  crimes  of  clergymen, — crimes  which,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  have  far  exceeded,  alike  in  number  and  enormity, 
all  the  offences  ever  attributed  to  actors  by  even  their 
most  determined  foes. 


636  APPENDIX 

Fifty-two  years  ago  William  Pleater  Davidge  (1814- 
1888),  one  of  the  most  honest  and  sturdy  of  men,  pub- 
lished his  pamphlet  called  "The  Drama  Defended." 
Davidge  had  made  an  extensive  and  accurate  collection 
of  accounts  of  clerical  immorality,  ranging  over  many 
years,  and  a  very  terrible  chronicle  it  was.  The  late 
Stuart  Robson  also  compiled  statistics  on  the  subject, 
voluminous  and  damnatory.  Thoughtful  persons, 
actors  as  well  as  others,  have  naturally  been  reminded, 
with  irresistible  force,  that  there  are  no  pages  in  his- 
tory blacker  than  those  which  record  ecclesiastical 
offences,  and  that  many  of  the  most  dreadful  and  har- 
rowing crimes  ever  committed  have  proceeded  from 
ecclesiastical  bigotry  and  been  done  in  the  name  of 
the  Prince  of  Peace.  The  weakness  and  vice,  for 
example,  of  a  Gwynn,  an  Abington,  or  a  Robinson, — 
incidents  of  a  frail  humanity  and  a  vicious  time,  and 
surely  as  stimidative  of  pity  as  of  censure, — pale  into 
insignificance  in  comparison  with  the  wickedness  of  a 
Colonna  or  a  Borgia.  Mention  of  such  ancient  examples 
is  pertinent  to  this  subject,  but  it  is  by  no  means  needful 
to  revert  to  remote  times,  or  even  to  the  comparatively 
modern  time  of  Bishop  Wainwright,  to  find  proof  that 
the  Pulpit  is  in  no  position  to  vaunt  itself  as  a  censor  of 
the  Stage, — distinguishing  that  institution  from  itself 
and  from  the  rest  of  Society. 

In  view  of  the  disingenuous  attempts  of  clergymen 
to  use  my  writings  in  support  of  their  unjust,  unchris- 


APPENDIX  637 

tian,  and  injurious  aspersions  of  the  Theatre  and  the 
Dramatic  Profession,  and  of  many  fulminations  from 
the  Pulpit  against  actors  and  acting,  I  was  impelled  to 
examine  the  motive  of  this  clerical  antagonism,  and  my 
conclusion  is  that  hostility  of  the  Clergy  toward  the 
Theatre  (not  so  frequent  or,  usually,  so  acrid  as  it 
was,  yet  sufficiently  lively  to  be  disgraceful)  springs, 
primarily,  from  professional  jealousy.  The  actor  is 
more  popular  than  the  preacher,  and  the  Stage,  as 
against  the  Pulpit,  carries  the  public  favor  and  prac- 
tical support.  It  is,  however,  also  to  be  observed  that 
the  Press,  not  only  by  the  exceptional  and  undue  prom- 
inence which  it  gives  to  actual  misconduct  by  people 
of  the  Stage,  but  by  its  indiscriminating  and  sometimes 
shamefully  unjust  treatment  of  them, — meaning  its 
custom  of  parading  any  disgraceful  conduct  of  any 
hanger-on  of  the  Theatre  as  that  of  an  "actor"  or  an 
"actress," — stimulates  the  ready  inclination  of  the  Pul- 
pit to  assail  the  Stage,  and  furnishes  the  bigoted 
preacher  with  ammunition  for  his  slander.  In  reflecting 
on  this  subject  I  was  moved  to  conjecture  (remember- 
ing what  had  been  done  in  earlier  times)  what  sort  of 
a  record  of  clerical  misdeeds  could  be  obtained  by 
culling  from  current  newspapers  the  reports  of  crimes 
committed  by  clergymen,  in  the  course  of  a  single  year. 
It  was  not  easy  to  make  such  a  compilation,  because 
while  anything  discreditable  to  anybody  who  can  be 
called  an  "actor"  or  an  "actress"  is  usually  "played  up" 


638  APPENDIX 

in  the  newspapers,  the  records  of  clerical  misbehavior 
are,  usually,  brief  and  often  obscurely  printed.  A  com- 
pilation was,  however,  made,  covering  a  few  months, 
and  it  will,  perhaps,  be  found  instructive.  I  merely 
quote  the  substance  of  the  published  statements,  on  the 
authority  of  the  newspapers,  without  asserting,  from 
my  personal  knowledge,  that  they  are  true.  Many 
of  them  have  the  'prima  facie  appearance  of  truth.  My 
purpose  in  doing  this  (surely  a  good  one)  is,  without 
malice,  to  show  that  the  Pulpit,  according  to  the  testi- 
mony of  the  news  despatches  in  the  Press,  is  not  entitled 
to  condemn  the  Stage.  An  incident  which  particularly 
prompted  me  to  make  this  record  was  the  joint  publi- 
cation, a  short  time  before  I  did  so,  in  leading  news- 
papers of  New  York,  under  the  head  of  "Religious 
Notices,"  of  the  following  paid  advertisements: 

"GO    HEAR    DR.   HALDEMAN 

First  Baptist  Church,   Broad  way  and  Seventy -ninth  Street 
Sunday  Night,   8  o'clock,   on 

JESUS  CHRIST  EITHER  ALMIGHTY 
GOD  OR   BAD   MAN 

"A    DENIAL 

"It  having  been  reported  in  the  newspapers  that  Pastor  Halde- 
man,  of  the  First  Baptist  Church,  Broadway  and  Seventy-ninth 
Street,  recently  attended  a  theatre,  he  takes  this  occasion  to  deny 


APPENDIX  639 

it  as  an  invention  of  Satan,  and  to  say  that  he  is  against  the 
Theatre  as  he  is  against  all  other  like  agencies  of  the  Devil. 

"(Signed)  I.  M.  Haldeman,  D.D." 

This  pulpiteer,  it  will  be  observed,  advertises  himself 
as  a  Doctor  of  Divinity  of  the  Baptist  denomination. 
Not  long  ago  another  parson  of  the  same  creed,  Rev. 
Clarence  V.  P.  Richeson,  of  Boston,  having  made  an 
innocent  girl,  scarcely  more  than  a  child,  the  victim  of 
the  most  cruel,  cowardly,  contemptible  betrayal  that 
man  can  perpetrate  on  woman,  deliberately  murdered 
her  with  poison,  in  order  that  he  might  be  free  to  con- 
tract a  marriage  with  another  woman,  possessed  of 
wealth  and  therefore  preferred  by  him, — for  which  hor- 
rible crime  he  was  lawfully  put  to  death.  It  would 
be  instructive  to  know  whether  I.  N.  Haldeman,  D.D., 
attributes  the  crimes  of  his  Christian  brother  to  innate 
depravity  of  an  individual  or  to  the  corrupting  influence 
of  Christianity  and  the  pluvial  creed  to  which  both  he 
and  the  late  Richeson  were  addicted  as  "Christian"  min- 
isters. It  would  be  as  rational  for  him  to  hold  the 
Church  responsible  for  that  murderer's  crimes  as  it 
would  be  for  him  to  hold  the  Theatre  responsible  for 
misconduct  on  the  part  of  any  individual  member  of 
the  dramatic  profession. 

On  December  31,  1909,  Rev.  Robert  Grant,  of  Way- 
cross,  Georgia,  was  expelled  from  the  Presbyterian 
Church    as    "a    falsifier,"    unfit    for    the    ministry.      In 


640  APPENDIX 

January,  1910,  Rev.  Arthur  B.  Stanley,  Baptist  minis- 
ter, of  Flat  Rock,  Michigan,  deserted  his  wife  and 
family  and  eloped  with  a  woman  employed  by  him  as 
a  stenographer.  About  the  same  time  Rev.  E.  O.  Til- 
bourne,  Christian,  deserted  his  wife  and  absconded, 
with  $300  which  he  had  stolen  from  his  church:  when 
arrested,  at  Pasadena,  California,  he  was  found  to  be 
accompanied  by  a  woman.  A  little  later  the  press, 
in  various  parts  of  the  country,  recorded  numerous 
cases  of  iniquity  committed  by  clergymen.  Record  was 
made  that  Rev.  II.  J.  Kiekhoefer,  president  of  the 
religious  school  at  Naperville,  Illinois,  had  resigned 
his  office  after  disclosure  had  been  made  of  his  mis- 
conduct with  girls  who  were  his  pupils,  intrusted  to  his 
care.  Rev.  Raymond  E.  Walker,  late  of  the  Granite- 
ville  Baptist  Church,  Centredale,  Rhode  Island,  was 
placed  in  jail,  in  Providence,  charged  with  having  forged 
on  a  check  the  signature  of  a  person  who  had  been 
his  friend  and  benefactor:  Rev.  Walker  struggled  to 
escape  from  the  officers  who  had  arrested  him,  and 
he  was  brought  to  Police  Headquarters  handcuffed. 
Rev.  S.  D.  Turner,  of  Huntington,  Arkansas,  was 
placed  in  jail,  charged  with  arson.  Rev.  John  H.  Car- 
roll, a  Roman  Catholic  priest,  of  Wallingford,  Connecti- 
cut, was  sued  for  libel.  Rev.  J.  R.  Rice,  Evangelist, 
of  Toledo,  Ohio,  was  imprisoned  on  a  charge  of  larceny 
from  the  person.  Rev.  Jordan  Chavis,  Chaplain  of  the 
Eighth  Regiment  of  Illinois  militia,  was  named  as  co- 


APPENDIX  641 

respondent  in  a  suit  for  divorce.    Rev.  A.  M.  Ritanour, 

Baptist  minister,  of  ,   was   "unfrocked"   because 

of  charges  made  against  him  by  his  wife,  concerning 
his  treatment  of  her  daughter,  aged  thirteen,  by  her 
first  husband:  she  alleged  that  he  was  responsible  for 
the  child's  death.  Rev.  H.  H.  Goodin,  Baptist  min- 
ister, of  Pontiac,  Illinois,  was  sentenced  to  serve  from 
one  to  ten  years  in  the  penitentiary  for  abducting  a 
girl,  aged  sixteen,  for  immoral  purposes.  Rev.  Charles 
Wesley  McCrosson  was,  by  a  lenient  judge,  in  Los 
Angeles,  California,  allowed  to  make  his  choice  between 
paying  a  fine  of  $4,000  or  serving  a  term  of  one  year 
in  prison,  for  participation  in  a  mining  swindle. 

On  January  5,  1910,  Rev.  J.  C.  Trapp  shot,  in  the 
abdomen,  Deputy  Sheriff  McAdams,  of  El  Paso,  Texas, 
who  was  endeavoring  to  serve  him  with  a  summons: 
the  minister  subsequently  surrendered  himself.  On 
January  8,  at  Ottawa,  Kansas,  Rev.  M.  W.  Stuckley, 
of  Williamsburgh,  that  state,  was  found  guilty  of 
abducting,   for  immoral  purposes,   and  for  "white-slave 

purposes,"     L S ,     aged     sixteen.       Rev. 

Stuckley  was  sentenced  to  a  long  imprisonment.  The 
child  had  been  a  member  of  Stuckley 's  church  and  had 
worked  on  a  newspaper  of  which  he  was  an  editor. 
When  he  eloped  with  her  he  deserted  his  wife  and  four 
children.  On  February  22  Rev.  Watson  W.  Trantor, 
pastor  of  the  First  Methodist  Church,  of  New  Rich- 
mond,  Ohio,  was  arrested,   on  a  charge,   made  by  his 


042  APPENDIX 

brother,  of  having  forged  a  check  for  $6,000.  On 
January  29  Rev.  William  J.  Herre,  of  Bellevue,  Penn- 
sylvania, was  sued  by  James  Annable,  of  Rose  Point, 
Lawrence  County,  that  State,  for  recovery  of  $5,000, 
value  of  land  taken  from  him,  as  a  consideration,  "to 
insure  his  [Annable's]  admittance  into  Heaven."  In 
March  Rev.  Victor  M.  Patterson,  of  Waterloo,  Iowa, 
having  deserted  his  wife  and  infant  child,  removed  to 
Brooklyn,  New  York,  and  there  became  betrothed  to  a 
worthy  young  woman,  whom  he  was  about  to  "marry," 
when  her  father  discovered  his  rascality  and  compelled 
his  departure.  On  March  21  Rev.  William  Long,  a 
Methodist  preacher,  was  sentenced  to  thirty  days  in  the 
County  Jail,  at  Monticello,  New  York,  for  having 
stolen  money  from  "a  bank,"  the  property  of  a  son 
of  Rev.  Charles  Walker,  of  Narrowsburgh.  That 
was  an  exceptionally  deplorable  case  of  villany,  as  the 
Rev.  W.  Long  and  his  wife  and  family,  when  destitute 
and  homeless,  had  been  taken  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Walker 
into  his  own  home,  and  cared  for,  and  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Walker  had  raised,  by  subscription,  a  considerable  sum 
of  money,  for  their  relief,  and  had  delivered  it  to  Long. 
It  was  shown  that  the  theft  was  committed  by  Rev. 
Long,  subsequent  to  that  act  of  benevolence,  during 
the  night,  while  his  benefactor  was  asleep.  On  April 
21  Bishop  Wesley  J.  Gaines,  of  Atlanta,  Georgia,  was 
arrested,  in  Camden,  New  Jersey,  on  a  warrant  issued 
by  Justice  Miller,  of  Jersey  City,  on  complaint  of  Rev. 


APPENDIX  643 

J.  H.  Morgan,  of  Bordentown,  New  Jersey,  charged 
with  having  stolen  $150  from  "the  Superannuated  Min- 
isters' Fund."  On  April  27  Ludovico  Ciletti,  formerly 
a  Roman  Catholic  priest,  then  a  student  preparing  to 
officiate  as  a  Presbyterian  minister,  fled  from  Prince- 
ton, New  Jersey,  charged  with  having  committed 
numerous  thefts.  On  May  9  Rev.  J.  H.  Wilson,  of  the 
Lutheran     Church    of    the    Ascension,     at     Savannah, 

Georgia,    was   publicly    horsewhipped    by    Mrs.    

and  her  daughter  for  having  seduced  the  daughter; 
the  flagellation  of  the  reverend  culprit  continued  until 
stopped  by  the  Secretary  of  the  Church  Council.  On 
the  evening  of  the  same  date  the  Church  Council 
received,  and  had  the  astounding  effrontery  to  accept, 
the  resignation  of  the  Rev.  Wilson,  who,  of  course, 
should  have  been  first  ignominiously  expelled  and  then 
prosecuted.  On  May  14  Rev.  Francis  E.  Bowser 
was  arrested  as  "a  fugitive  from  justice,"  and  arraigned 
in  the  Adams  Street  Police  Court,  Brooklyn,  where 
Magistrate  Tighe  held  him  in  bond  for  $1,000,  as  he 
had  been  indicted,  in  Jersey  City,  for  bigamy.  On 
May  23  Alphonse  M.  Consolazio,  a  Roman  Catholic 
priest,  representing  that  he  had  left  the  priesthood, 
married  Miss  Katherine  Johann,  aged  sixteen  years 
and  one  month,  eloping  with  her  to  Atlantic  City.  He 
subsequently  left  the  unfortunate  girl,  and  the  mar- 
riage was  annulled.  On  May  28  P.  J.  Gibson,  a  well- 
known    and    widely    respected   business    man,    of    South 


644  APPENDIX 

St.  Paul,  Minnesota,  shot  and  killed  Father  Walsh,  a 
Roman  Catholic  priest  of  the  parish  of  St.  Augustine,  in 
St.  Paul,  because  of  that  priest's  relations  with  Mrs.  Gib- 
son. On  June  16  Rev.  S.  W.  Tucker,  pastor  of  the 
Church  of  Christians,  Scuffletown,  Virginia,  "jumped  his 
bail,"  of  $500,  and  disappeared.  He  had  been  arrested 
for  prowling,  at  night,  around  a  woman's  house,  and  was 
under  nine  separate  accusations  of  bigamy,  seven  of  them 
made  by  women  of  Scuffletown,  where  he  preached.  On 
the  same  date  Sheriff  M.  W.  Trefethen,  of  Portland, 
Maine,  acting  under  authority  of  a  writ  of  habeas 
corpus,  removed  Mrs.  Florence  Whitaker  and  her  four 
children,  two  of  them  girls,  from  the  yacht  Kingdom, 
on  complaint  of  Nathan  H.  Harriman,  of  Cambridge, 
Massachusetts,  that  the  women  and  children  were  being 
deprived  of  their  liberty,  and  detained  against  their 
will,  by  a  clergyman,  Rev.  Frank  W.  Sandford.  On 
June  18  Rev.  Robert  Vanover  and  Rev.  Isaac  Perry 
fought  a  duel,  with  knives,  in  the  Rock  Creek  Baptist 
Church,  Whiteley  County,  Kentucky,  the  throat  of 
Rev.  Vanover  being  cut  from  ear  to  ear,  so  that  he 
promptly  died.  Blaine  Perry,  brother  of  Rev.  Isaac 
Perry,  joined  in  the  fight,  at  a  critical  moment,  and 
held  the  head  of  Rev.  Vanover  bent  backward  while 
Rev.  Perry  slashed  his  victim's  throat.  The  church 
was  crowded,  at  the  time  of  this  peculiarly  atrocious 
murder,  the  congregation  having  been  convened  to  hear 
"serious  charges  against  Vanover,"  described  as  one  of 


APPENDIX  645 

the  most  widely  known  clergymen  of  Kentucky.  Later 
in  June  Mrs.  Mary  A.  Lavender,  who  had  brought  an 
action,  for  slander,  against  Rev.  E.  D.  Crawford,  pas- 
tor of  the  Woodlawn  Methodist  Episcopal  Church,  of 
Chicago,  was  awarded  damages,  to  the  extent  of  $4,000. 
On  July  15  Rev.  James  R.  Kaye,  an  inmate  of  a 
House  of  Correction  in  Illinois,  to  which  he  had  been 
committed  for  the  crime  of  counterfeiting,  was  par- 
doned by  President  Taft.  About  the  same  time  record 
was  made  of  the  case  of  Rev.  Jonah  Samuel  Sturdevant, 
convicted  of  bigamy  and  then  serving  a  term  of  impris- 
onment in  jail,  at  Baltimore.  On  August  21  Rev.  A. 
Hauberich,  pastor  of  the  Evangelical  Church  of  Milton- 
burgh,  Ohio,  a  prominent  minister  in  that  State,  was 
arrested  on  charges  made  by  a  former  class-mate,  and 
he  confessed  that  he  had  stolen  watches  and  chains  from 
seventeen  theological  students  and  also  various  fobs, 
scarf-pins,  and  cuff-buttons  from  various  women.  On 
August  29  Rev.  Robert  Martin  Matthews,  pastor  of 
the  First  Welsh  Church,  of  Connellsville,  Pennsylvania, 
was  committed  to  jail  for  bigamy, — Mrs.  Matthews  hav- 
ing discovered  that  he  had  a  wife  and  children,  living 
in  Wales.  On  August  27  Levont  Martoogesian,  an 
Armenian  priest,  was  liberated  from  Sing  Sing  prison, 
where  he  had  served  for  two  and  one-half  years  for 
having  attempted  to  extort  $100,000  by  threats  of 
assassination.  He  was  immediately  arrested  again,  on 
charges  of  blackmail,  extortion,  and  attempted  robbery. 


646  APPENDIX 

On  September  5  Rev.  Clyde  Gow,  pastor  of  the  Lincoln 
County  Methodist  Church,  South,  near  Plattsburgh, 
Missouri,  was  dismissed  from  his  pastorate  because  of 
charges    which    had    been    made    against    him    by    Miss 

E G ,  deceased,  who  died   (1908) 

after  a  criminal  operation.  The  Rev.  Gow  was  sentenced 
to  four  years  in  the  Penitentiary.  On  October  7  Rev. 
DeWitt  Clinton  Sharpe,  of  Schenectady,  New  York, 
was  sentenced  by  Justice  Van  Kirke  to  three  and  one- 
half  years'  imprisonment  in  the  penitentiary  for  the 
crime  of  abducting,  for  immoral  purposes,  a  girl, 
Miss ,  aged  fourteen.  In  eloping  with  that  unfort- 
unate girl  Rev.  Sharpe  deserted  his  wife.  A  little 
later  the  case  of  Rev.  Evan  T.  Evans,  formerly  of  the 
Protestant  Episcopal  Mission  Church  of  St.  John, 
Fort  Hamilton,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.,  was  revived.  The 
Rev.  Evans,  in  consequence  of  his  scandalous  misbe- 
havior, had  been  "allowed  to  resign."  He  subsequently 
deserted  his  wife,  and  that  unhappy  woman  committed 

suicide.     Rev.  Evans  eloped  with  Miss  ,  a  young 

woman,  of  Sarnia,  Ontario,  where  he  was  in  charge  of 

the  parish   of    St.   John.     Miss   carried   several 

thousand  dollars,  on  her  amatory  expedition  with  the 
parson.  After  a  little  time  she  returned  to  her  home, 
saying  that  she  had  been  "married"  to  the  Rev.  Evans, 
at  Niagara,  taken  to  Cleveland,  and  there  robbed  of 
her  money  and  then  sent  home.  The  poor  girl  pined 
away,  in  consequence  of  the  ill  treatment  to  which  she 


APPENDIX  647 

had  been  subjected,  and  three  months  later  she  died. 
Investigation  of  the  proceedings  of  the  Rev.  Evans 
disclosed  the  facts  of  his  having  misled  another  girl, 
only  sixteen  years  old,  and  her  pitiful  condition.  Record 
was  also  made,  in  the  press,  of  the  case  of  Rev.  Joseph 
T.  Bradburn,  of  the  Methodist  Episcopal  Church  of 
Spencer,  New  York,  a  pulpiteer  who  disappeared  on  Sep- 
tember <4,  under  incriminating  circumstances,  and  who 
turned  up  on  September  23,  confessing  "after  a  hard 
day's  work,  being  nervous  and  weary,  I  was  tempted 
and  I  yielded."  The  notorious  Jere  Cooke  case  need 
only  be  mentioned.  The  list  could  be  greatly  extended. 
It  would  be  easy,  in  the  light  of  chronicles  of  which 
this  is  but  as  an  index,  to  visit  wholesale  condemnation 
on  the  Church,  but  it  would  be  cruelly  unjust  and 
wicked  to  do  so.  The  intrinsic  beneficence  of  the  insti- 
tution itself  is  not  and  cannot  be  vitiated  by  the  mis- 
deeds of  its  unworthy  representatives.  The  history  of  the 
Church  is  radiant  with  the  shining  names  of  good  men 
who,  in  purity  of  heart,  nobility  of  soul,  and  singleness 
of  purpose,  have  devoted  great  talents  to  the  service  of 
religion  and  have  borne  the  civilizing  influences  of 
Christianity  to  the  uttermost  ends  of  the  earth.  The 
remembrance  of  such  a  man  as  Charming  is  an  ever- 
lasting blessing.  The  thought  of  such  a  man  as  Doctor 
Barnardo  is  an  inspiration.  There  are,  in  iill  com- 
munities, ministers  of  religion,  poorly  paid,  heavily  bur- 
dened, careworn  and  anxious,  who  patiently  and  bravely 


648  APPENDIX 

strive  onward,  seeking  only  to  do  good,  to  relieve  suffer- 
ing, to  rescue  the  fallen,  and  to  inculcate  faith  and 
hope,  and  this  they  do  with  no  thought  of  personal 
recompense,  other  than  the  consciousness  of  duty 
honestly  and  earnestly  fulfilled.  Their  integrity,  their 
services,  their  influence,  and  their  example  are  not  to  he 
scorned  and  vilified  because  weak  or  vicious  or  disease- 
afflicted  men  have  dishonored  the  Pulpit.  But,  if  jus- 
tice and  charity  are  due  to  the  Church,  surely  also  they 
are  due  to  the  Theatre.  The  history  of  the  Theatre  does 
not  represent  that  institution  as  void  of  blemish,  but 
it  contains  no  such  record  of  iniquity,  in  any  period, 
as  that  which  startles  and  shocks  the  reader  of  the 
history  of  the  Church.  The  votaries  of  the  Stage,  as 
a  class,  are  good  men  and  women — representative  of 
their  time  and  society — engaged  in  the  ministry  of  a 
beautiful  art,  which,  when  used  as  it  ought  to  be,  is 
pre-eminently  inculcative  of  virtue  and  diffusive  of 
happiness,  and  nothing  could  be  more  unjust  and  repre- 
hensible than  the  outcry  against  them  which  so  often 
proceeds  from  pulpit  performers,  clothed  in  self-right- 
eousness and  vainglorious  in  their  impudent  assump- 
tion of  the  right  to  prescribe  and  estimate  the.  morals  and 
regulate  the  conduct  of  mankind. 


INDEX— VOLUME  TWO 


INDEX 


Abbey,  Henry  Eugene  (American 
theatrical  manager) :  mentioned, 
608. 

Abbey's  Theatre,  New  York  (after- 
ward the  Knickerbocker) :  "Gode- 
froi  and  Yolande"  produced  at, 
369. 

Abington,  Mrs.  Frances  (Fanny  Bar- 
ton), (old-time  English  actress): 
'     636. 

"About  Town"  (musical  extrava- 
ganza): 176;  177. 

Achurch,  Janet  (English  actress): 
561. 

"Across  the  Continent"  (play) :  Ada 
Rehan's  first  appearance  on  the 
stage  made  in,  126. 

Acting:  faculties  and  attributes  es- 
sential to  greatness  in,  10-11. 

Actors:  necessities  of  their  art,  134; 
requisites  of  authentic,  145-146; 
characters  in  which  they  most  ex- 
cel, 5-27;  the  facts  about,  Ameri- 
can, abroad,  606-630. 

Adams,  Annie  A.  (Mrs.  James  Kis- 
kaden),   (American  actress):  209. 

Adams,  Edwin  (American  actor): 
seen  in  childhood  by  Mary  Ander- 
son, and  influenced  her,  3;  127; 
142. 

Adams  (Kiskaden),  Maude  (Ameri- 
can actress) :  Biographical  facts 
relative  to,  and  studies  of  her  act- 
ing, 209-238;  birth,  parentage,  first 
appearance  of,  schooling,  and  first 
appearance  of  in  New  York,  209; 
conspicuous  personations  of,  men- 
tioned, 210;  popularity  of,  and  ap- 
pears in  "The  Little  Minister"  in 
New  York,  211;  her  performance 
in  that  play,  212-213;  appears  in 
"Romeo  and  Juliet,"  and  her  per- 
formance in  that  plav,  considered, 
213-217;  appears  in  "The  Eaglet" 
(English    version    of    "L'Aiglon"), 


218;  that  play,  and  her  perform- 
ance in,  considered,  218-226;  ap- 
pears in  "Quality  Street,"  226; 
quality  and  story  of  that  play,  and 
her  performance  in  it,  considered, 
226-229;  appears  in  "The  Pretty 
Sister  of  Jose,"  299 ;  story  and  qual- 
ity of  that  play,  and  her  perform- 
ance in,  considered,  229-232;  ap- 
pears in  "Peter  Pan,"  and  perform- 
ance in,  231-232;  appears  in  "The 
Jesters,"  232;  story  and  quality  of, 
and  her  performance  in,  considered, 
233-235. 

Addams,  Jane  (American  social  re- 
former and  writer) :  508. 

Admirable  Crichton,"  "The  (play) : 
403. 

"Adrea"  (play) :  production  of,  in 
New  York,  328;  story  and  quality 
of,  and  personation  of  its  heroine 
by  Mrs.  Leslie  Carter,  considered, 
328-332. 

"Adrienne   Lecouvreur"    (play) :    310. 

Adventures  of  Lady  Ursula,"  "The 
(play):  48. 

^Eschylus:  269;  364. 

Affinity,"  "The  ("Les  Hannetons"), 
(play):  374;  (and  see  Incubus," 
"The):  392;  395. 

Aiglon,"  "L'  (play):  produced,  218; 
incidents  of  first  production  of, 
224. 

"Alabama"  (play):  403;  501;  first 
production  of,  and  story  and  quality 
of,  531  et  seq.;  602. 

Albany,  Duke  of:  his  death  men- 
tioned, 627. 

Albaugh,  John  W.  (American  actor 
and  theatrical  manager)  :  127. 

Albaugh's  Theatre,  Albany:  Ada 
Rehan  acting  at,  127. 

Alderman,"  "The  (play):  Frank 
Worthing  makes  first  London  ap- 
pearance in,   194. 

Aldrich,  Louis  (American  actor):  517. 

Alexander,  Sir  George,  Kt.    (English 


651 


15.52 


INDEX 


actor  and  theatrical  manager):  pro- 
duces    "The     Second     Mrs.     Tan- 
queray,"  425. 
"Alice    in    Wonderland"    (phantasy): 

Allen,  Viola  (Mrs.  Peter  Duryea), 
(American  actress):  first  appear- 
ance of,  as  a  star,  435;  persona- 
tion of  Glory  Quay  le,  in  "The 
Christian,"   considered,   410,   et  seq. 

"Alt  the  Comforts  of  Home"  (play): 
242. 

"Almaviva"  (opera):  Charlotte  Cush- 
man's  first  appearance  in,  men- 
tioned, 616. 

Aimer,  George  (English  actor  and 
playwright):  version  of  "Oliver 
Twist"  by,  mentioned,  516. 

Amazons,"  "The  (play):  495. 

American  Theatre,  New  York:  "The 
Manxman"  produced  at,  420. 

"Anastasius"  (novel) :  270. 

Anderson,  Charles  Joseph  (soldier — 
father  of  Mary   Anderson):  3. 

Anderson,  Mahv  Antoinette  (Mrs. 
Antonio  de  Navarro),  (American 
actress):  Life  and  Art  of,  1-47; 
first  appearance  of,  on  stage,  and 
quality  of  performance  then  given, 
1 ;  birth  of,  parentage,  education, 
and  dramatic  characters  first 
studied  by,  3;  debut  as  Juliet,  4; 
capitulation  of  her  professional 
career  and  specification  of  her 
repertory,  4-5;  example  of  excep- 
tional experience,  and  great  pop- 
ularity of,  6;  conventional  judg- 
ment as  to,  and  actual  qualities 
of,  as  woman  and  actress,  7-9; 
faculties  and  attributes  of  great- 
ness revealed  by  her  acting,  11- 
12;  retirement  of,  from  the  stage, 
marriage  of,  and  English  home,  12; 
nature  and  quality  of  her  persona- 
tion of  Juliet,  in  "Romeo  and 
Juliet,"  described  and  considered, 
15-19;  omitted  Juliet's  "Banished" 
Scene,  16;  her  revival  of  "As  You 
Like  It,"  and  her  personation  of 
Rosalind  in,  described  and  consid- 
ered, 19-27;  straightforward  char- 
acter of  her  mind,  21 ;  care  as  to 
detail  and  finish  in  her  personation 
of  Rosalind,  23;  her  revival  of  "The 
Winter's  Tale,"  and  her  personation 
of  Hermione   and  Perdita  in,  con- 


sidered, 27-38;  meaning  of  Her- 
mione and  Perdita,  and  reason  for 
general  public  preference  of  latter, 
36;  superiority  of,  in  personification 
of  Pride,  39;  performance  of 
Pauline,  in  "The  Lady  of  Lyons," 
described  and  considered,  39-41; 
her  personation  of  Julia,  in  "The 
Hunchback,"  and  nature  of  her  suc- 
cess in,  41-42;  her  ideal  of  Gilbert's 
Oalatea,  and  quality  and  effect  of 
her  personation  of,  42-45;  as 
Clarice,  in  "Comedy  and  Tragedy," 
45-46;  her  personation  of  Parthenia, 
alluded  to,  79;  125;  144;  245;  609; 
success  of,  in  Great  Britain,  and 
productions  made  there  by,  enu- 
merated,   622-623. 

Anglin,  Margaret  (Mrs.  Howard 
Hull),  (American  actress):  asso- 
ciated with  Frank  Worthing,  198. 

Anne,  Queen  of  England,  &c, 
124. 

Anson,  A.  E.  (English  actor — the 
Younger) :  in  "The  Thunderbolt," 
492. 

Antiquary,"  "The   (novel):  270. 

Antonius,  Marcus  (Roman  triumvir)  : 
conduct  of,  583. 

"Antony  and  Cleopatra"  (play) :  re- 
vived at  opening  of  the  New  Thea- 
tre, New  York,  77. 

Apology  for  the  Life  of  Colley 
Cibber,"  "An,  alluded  to,  124. 

Archer,  WTilliam  (English  journalist 
and  dramatic  critic) :  style  of,  in 
translation,  584. 

Arch  Street  Theatre,  Philadelphia: 
Ada  Rehan  and  John  Drew  (the 
Younger)  associated  with,  126. 

Aristocratic  Alliance,"  "An  (play) : 
194. 

Aristotle,    496. 

Arliss,  George  (English-American 
actor):  293;  as  Paul  Berton,  in 
"Leah  Kleschna,"  294;  305;  347; 
353. 

"Armand"  (play)  :  produced  in  Lon- 
don,  626. 

Arnold,  Matthew  (poet  and  critic) : 
admiration   of,   for  Rachel,   159. 

"Arrah-na-Pogue"   (play):  423. 

Arthur,  Lee  (American  playwright) : 
178. 

"As  a  Man  Thinks"  (play):  produced, 
548;  excellence  of,  quality  and  story 


INDEX 


653 


of,  and  personations  in,  considered, 
548-557. 

Ashe,  Oscar  (English  actor):  as  Mal- 
donaldo,  in   "Ins,"  470. 

Aspirants   in  art:  experience  of,  5-6. 

Assommoir,"  "L'  (play) :  Ada  Rehan 
acts  in  (translated)  version  of,  128. 

Astor  Place  Wots:  mentioned,  612. 

"As  You  Like  It"  (play) :  quality  and 
effect  of,  and  Mary  Anderson's  re- 
vival of  and  performance  of  Rosa- 
lind in,  considered,  19-27;  74;  77; 
130;  presented  at  Stratford-upon- 
Avon  by  Ada  Rehan  and  Daly's 
Company,  131 ;  quality  of,  Rosalind 
in,  and  Ada  Rehan's  personation, 
considered,  154-156;  196;  230;  403; 
revival  of,  in  England,  by  Mary 
Anderson,  and  success  of,  alluded 
to,  622;  Daly  presents  at  L}'ceum 
Theatre,  London,  624;  the  same,  at 
Stratford-upon-Avon,  625. 

Athenaeum,"  "The  London  (news- 
paper) :  commendation  of  Edwin 
Forrest  by,  613. 

Auctioneer,"  "The  (play) :  produced, 
178. 

B 

Balzac,  Honore  de  (French  novelist): 
136;   293. 

"Barbara  Frietchie"  (play)  :  produced 
at  the  Criterion  Theatre,  New  York, 
82;  story  and  quality  of,  and  per- 
formance of  heroine  in,  by  Julia 
Marlowe,   83-84. 

Barnes,  John  (English- American  ac- 
tor): 614. 

Barrett,  Lawrence  (American  actor 
and  theatrical  manager):  67;  68; 
127;  144;  financial  failure  of  his 
London  engagement,  and  reason 
for,  627. 

Barbett,  Wilson  (English  actor  and 
theatrical  manager) :  "Claudian" 
written  for,  411;  his  personation 
of  Claudian,  considered,  418-420; 
play  of  "The  Manxman"  made  by, 
on  basis  of  novel,  420;  421;  his- 
trionic excellence  of,  423;  persona- 
tion of  Pete  Quinilan,  in  "The 
Manxman,"  424-425. 

Barrie,  James  Matthew  (English 
novelist  and  dramatist):  211;  212; 
236;  verses  by,  alluded  to,  228; 
231;  235;  method  of,  236. 


Barron    (Brown),  Charles   (American 

actor)  :  517. 
Barrow,   Julia    Bennett    (Mrs.    Jacob 
Barrow),      (English-American     ac- 
tress): 154;  169. 
Barry,    Elizabeth     (old-time    English 
actress):  Cibber's  description  of,  al- 
luded to,   125. 
Barrymore,  Ethel  (Mrs.  Russell  Colt), 

(American  actress): 
Barrymore,  Maurice  (English-Amer- 
ican actor  and  dramatist):  as  Raw- 
den  Crawley,  in  "Becky  Sharp," 
285. 
Barry,  Thomas  (English-American 
actor  and  theatrical  manager)  :  608. 

Bates,  Blanche  (Mrs.  Milton  F. 
Davis, — Mrs.  George  Creel),  (Am- 
erican actress):  125;  Frank  Worth- 
ing becomes  "leading  man"  for,  197: 
Biographical  facts  relative  to,  and 
studies  of  her  acting,  239-261; 
birth,  239;  parentage,  childhood, 
first  marriage  mentioned,  and  first 
appearance  on  stage,  240;  tribute 
to  Frank  Worthing  by,  240-242; 
engaged  by  Augustin  Daly,  and  acts 
Countess  Mirtza,  in  "The  Great 
Ruby,"  242;  acts  with  James 
O'Neill,  and  various  professional 
activities  of,  enumerated,  243;  per- 
sonal and  artistic  attributes  of,  and 
conduct  of  her  professional  life, 
241-245;  acts  in  "Nobody's  Widow," 
245;  story  and  quality  of  that  play, 
and  her  performance  in,  considered, 
245-248;  acts  in  "Under  Two 
Flags,"  249;  story  of  that  play, 
and  quality  of  her  personation  in, 
considered,  249-252;  acts  in  "The 
Darling  of  the  Gods,"  252;  story  and 
quality  of  that  play,  and  her  per- 
sonation of  Princess  Yo-San  in, 
considered,  252-257;  acts  in  "The 
Girl  of  the  Golden  West,"  257;  story 
and  quality  of,  and  her  persona- 
tion of  the  Girl  in,  considered,  257- 
261;  second  marriage  of,  recorded, 
261 ;  as  Hannah  Jacobs,  in  "The 
Children  of  the  Ghetto,"  455-456. 

Bates,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  F.  M.  (American 
actors) :  mentioned,  240. 

Bauble  Shop,"  "The  (play):  194;  210. 

"Becket"    (play):    403. 

Bcckford,    William    (English    roman- 
cer and  poet) :  252. 


654> 


INDEX 


Belasco,  David  (American  theatrical 
manager  and  dramatist):  forms  pro- 
fessional alliance  with  David  War- 
field,  and  plays  by,  produced  for 
that  actor,  178;  revives  "The  Music 
Master,"1  180;  opens  the  Stuyvesant 
Theatre  with  "A  Grand  Army 
Man,"  182;  co-author  of  that  play, 
183;  197;  247;  produces  "Under 
Two  Flags"  for  Blanche  Bates,  249; 
"a  magnificent  spectacle,"  250;  co- 
author of  "The  Darling  of  the 
Gods,"  and  produces  same,  for 
Blanche  Bates,  252;  writes  "The 
Girl  of  the  Golden  West"  for 
Blanche  Bates,  and  New  York  pro- 
duction of  it,  257;  259;  his  manage- 
ment of  Mrs.  Leslie  Carter,  323; 
produces  "Adrea"  for  Mrs.  Carter, 
328;  404;  479;  480;  481;  487. 

Belasco  Theatre,  New  York:  "Adrca" 
produced  at,  328. 

Bell,  Malcolm  (American  dramatist): 
his  "Rogues  and  Vagabonds"  pro- 
duced, 75. 

Belle  of  New  York,"  "The  (musical 
extravaganza)  :  177. 

Belle's  Stratagem,"  "The  (play):  75; 
character  of  Letitia  Hardy  in,  and 
Ada  Rehan's  performance  of,  con- 
sidered,  167-170. 

Bellew  (Higgin),  Harold  Kyrle 
(English-American  actor):  204;  his 
personation  of  Voysin  in  "The 
Thief,"  477. 

Bellows,  Rev.  Dr.  :  defence  of 

the   Theatre  by,  alluded   to,   631. 

Bells,"  "The   (play):  403. 

"BelpWgor"   (play):  180;  182;  423. 

Benedict,  Sir  Julius  (English  musical 
composer):   411. 

Benson,  E.  F.  (English  dramatist): 
354. 

"Bentley's  Magazine"   (London)  :  512. 

Berkeley  Lyceum,  New  York:  "An 
Enemy  of  the  People"  produced  at, 
575. 

Bernhardt,  Sarah  (Sarah  Frances, — 
Mme.  Jacques  Damala)  (French 
actress,  theatrical  manager,  and 
sculptor):  125;  146;  176;  222;  311; 
341;  365. 

Bernstein,  Henri  (French  dramatist)  : 
471. 

"Beyond  Human  Power"  (play)  :  story 
and  quality  of,  and  personation  of 


heroine  in,  by  Mrs.  Patrick  Camp- 
bell, considered,   342-347. 

Bijou  Theatre,  New  York:  Julia  Mar- 
lowe acts  Parthenia  at,  74;  "The 
Climbers"  produced  at,  197;  Maude 
Adams  makes  first  New  York  ap- 
pearance at,  209;  "Master  Builder 
Solness"  produced   at,  579. 

Bingham,  Amelia  (Mrs.  Lloyd  Bing- 
ham), (American  actress):  197; 
acts  Nancy,  in  "Oliver  Twist," 
515. 

Bjornson,  Bjbrnstjerne  (Norwegian 
dramatist)  :  play  by,  translated,  345. 

"Black-Ey'd   Susan"' (play)  :  626. 

Blackmore,  Richard  (English  novel- 
ist): 275. 

Blair,  John  (American  actor):  367. 

Blake,  Mrs.  William  Rufus  (Caroline 
Placide),    (American   actress):  518. 

Blcssington,  Countess  of  (Margaret 
Power) :  60. 

Blinn,  Holbrook  (American  actor): 
574. 

Bonaparte,  Napoleon  (Emperor): 
59;  218;  author  characterizes,  225. 

"Bone  Squash"    (burlesque):  615. 

Boniface,  George  C (American 

actor) :  517. 

Bonner,  Geraldine  (American  play- 
wright):  199. 

"Book  of  Martyrs,"  Foxe's:  358. 

Booth,  Edwin  Thomas  (American  ac- 
tor and  theatrical  manager) :  seen 
by  Mary  Anderson  in  childhood,  and 
influenced  her,  3;  6;  144;  his  su- 
premacy, 608;  609;  "distinctively  a 
tragedian,"  preeminence  of,  and  acts 
in  London,  618;  advised  by  author 
as  to  first  London  appearance, 
competition  with  Irving,  619;  acts 
at  Lyceum  Theatre,  London,  with 
Irving  and  Terry,  in  "Othello,"  and 
triumph  of,  620;  acts  in  Germany, 
620;  letter  from,  on  his  triumphal 
appearance  in  Berlin,  quoted,  621; 
633. 

Borgia,  Caesar:  636. 

Boswell,  James  (biographer) :  539. 

Boswell's  "Life  of  Johnson":  men- 
tioned, 540. 

Boucicault,  Dion  (Bourcicault— "Lee 
Moreton"),  (Irish-English-Ameri- 
can actor,  dramatist,  and  theatrical 
manager) :  prompted  to  write 
"Jessie  Brown,"  82;   554. 


INDEX 


655 


Bowers,  Mrs.  David  P.  (Elizabeth 
Crocker),   (American  actress) :  127. 

Boyesen,  Hjalmar  Hjorth  (critic  and 
biographer):  380;  560;  statement  of 
Ibsen's  purpose,  quoted,  572;  sum- 
mary of  Ibsen's  purpose,  quoted, 
600. 

Bracegirdle,  Anne  (old-time  English 
actress)  :   141;  159. 

Brady,    William    A (American 

theatrical  manager):  176;  198. 

Brady,  Mrs.  William  A.  See  George, 
Grace. 

Brandes,  Georg   (biographer) :  560. 

Brandon,  Charles,  Viscount  of  Lisle, 
Duke   of  Suffolk,   85. 

Brieux,  Eugene  (French  dramatist): 
373;  374;  388;  391;  393;  394;  396; 
398. 

Broadway  Theatre,  New  York:  first 
New  York  appearance  of  Mrs. 
Leslie  Carter  made  at,  323. 

Brough,  Fanny,  74, — and  see  Marlowe, 
Julia. 

Brougham,  John  (Irish-English-Am- 
erican actor  and  dramatist):  127; 
634. 

Brown,  Thomas  (generally  known  as 
"Tom  Brown"),  (English  theatrical 
and  satirical  writer) :  173. 

Browning,  Robert   (the  poet) :  75. 

Brownrigg,  Mrs.  (infamous  mur- 
derer) :  attempted  extenuation  of, 
alluded  to,  115. 

Buckingham,  George  Villiers,  2nd, 
Duke  of  (dramatist)  :  149. 

Buckstone,  John  Baldwin  (English 
actor,  theatrical  manager,  and 
dramatist):    614. 

Buffons"  "Les  (play — see  Jesters," 
"The). 

Bulwer,  Sir  Edward  Lytton,  Bart., 
first  Lord  Lytton  (the  novelist  and 
dramatist):    66;   408;   412;   491. 

Bunbury,  Mrs.  ( Horn- 

eck) :  538. 

Burke,  Charles  St.  Thomas  (Ameri- 
can  actor) :  517. 

Burke,  Edmund  (British  statesman): 
458;    539. 

Burke,  lone  (American  actress):  517. 

Burne-Jones,  Sir  Philip  (English 
artist). 

Burnett,  Mrs.  Frances  Hodgson 
(American  novelist  and  play- 
wright) :  229,  230. 


Burns,  Robert  (the  poet) :  misrepre- 
sented, 60. 

Bush  Street  Theatre,  San  Francisco: 
176;  Maude  Adams  at,  209. 

Butler,  Prof.  Noble  (educator) :  in- 
structs Mary  Anderson,  3. 

Butterflies,"  "The    (play):  210. 

Byron,  George  Gordon,  Lord  (the 
poet):  on  love,  quoted,  22;  ideal 
seen  by,  in  his  "Egeria,"  26;  mis- 
represented, 60;  215;  266;  278;  325; 
474:  503. 


Cabinet  Minister,"  "The   (play):  495. 

Cable,  George  (American  novelist): 
play  based  on  his  "The  Cavalier," 
76. 

Caesar,   Julius:  59. 

Caine,  Hall  (English  novelist  and  play- 
wright) :  420;  435;  on  the  province  of 
fiction,  436;  438;  441;  Shakespeare's 
unfortunate  precedence  of,  442;  let- 
ter by,  relative  to  author's  eminence 
as  critic,  quoted,  443;  attack  on  au- 
thor by,  444;  replied  to,  447,  et  seq. 

Caldwell,  James  H.  (American  the- 
atrical manager)  :  608. 

Calvert,  Louis  (English  actor):  in 
"The  Thunderbolt,"   492. 

Cameron,  Beatrice,  see  Mansfield, 
Mrs.   Richard. 

"Camille"    (play):  309;  310. 

Campbell,  Mrs.  Patrick  (English 
actress):  Frank  Worthing  acts 
Orlando  with,  194;  198;  310;  first 
appearance  of,  in  New  York,  338; 
Studies  of  her  Acting  ,  338-367  ; 
as  Magda,  341 ;  story  and  quality  of 
"Beyond  Human  Power,"  and  her 
personation  of  Mrs.  Sang  in,  consid- 
ered, 342-347;  produces  "Mariana" 
in  New  York,  347;  story  and  quality 
of  that  play,  and  her  personation  of 
its  heroine,  considered,  347-350;  pro- 
duces "Pelleas  and  Melisande"  in 
New  York,  360;  quality  and  theme 
of  that  play,  and  her  personation 
of  Melisande  in,  considered,  350- 
353;  produces  "Aunt  Jeannie"  in 
New  York,  354;  story  and  quality 
of  that  play,  and  her  personation 
of  its  heroine,  considered,  354-355; 
produces  "The  Joy  of  Living,"  qual- 
ity and  story  of  that  play,  and  her 


656 


INDEX 


personation  of  heroine  in,  consid- 
ered, 355-358;  produces  English  ver- 
sion of  "The  Sorceress,"  quality  and 
story  of  that  play,  and  her  person- 
ation of  Zoraya  in,  considered, 
35S-3(il;  produces  in  New  York  an 
English  version  of  "Elect ra,"  story 
and  quality  of  that  play,  and  her 
personation  of  its  heroine,  consid- 
ered, 261-365;  summary  regarding 
her  professional  activities,  365-367; 
epigram  commended  to,  and  supple- 
mented by  W.  W.,  367;  391;  acts 
in  original  production  of  "The  Sec- 
ond Mrs.  Tanqueray,"  425;  per- 
sonation of  Paula  Tanqueray  hy, 
considered,   4-29;   434. 

Candidate,"   "The    (play):   194. 

Canning,  George  (English  states- 
man): 115. 

"Captain   Letterhlair"    (play):  48. 

Carew,  Thomas  (English  poet):  GO. 

Carey,  Henry  (English  dramatist  and 
poet) :  60. 

Carleton,  H.  C.  (American  actor) : 
mentioned,   518. 

Carleton,  Henry  Guy  (American 
dramatist,  journalist,  &c.) :  version 
of   "Colinette"   by,   produced,   81. 

"Carmen"   (play):  310;  319. 

Carr,  Joseph  Comyns-  (English  dram- 
atist, &c.) :  version  of  "Oliver 
Twist"  produced  hy,  513;  515. 

Carroll,  Lewis   (English  writer):  232. 

Carter,  Mrs.  Leslie  (Caroline  Lou- 
ise Dudley, — Mrs.  William  Louis 
Payne),  (American  actress):  311; 
some  biographical  facts  relative  to, 
323;  Studies  of  her  Acting, — in 
"Du  Barry,"  324-327;  in  "Adrea," 
328-332;  excellence  of  her  utterance, 
332;  moral  ministrations  of,  333- 
337;  434. 

Cartwright,  Charles  (English  actor): 
293;  as  Kleschna,  in  "Leah 
Kleschna,"  294. 

Case  of  Rebellious  Susan,"  "The 
(play)  :  422. 

Casino  Theatre,  New  York:  David 
Warfield  associated  with,  177. 

"Catherine"  (burlesque  of  play): 
177. 

"Caste"    (play):    403. 

"Catherine"  (play):  acted  at  the  Gar- 
rick  Theatre,  New  York,  196. 

"Catiline"    (play):  560. 


Cavalier,"  "The  (play— based  on  the 
novel):  produced,  76;   197. 

"Cavalleria   Rusticana"  (opera) :  264. 

Centlivre,  Mrs.  Joseph  (Susanna  Eree- 
man),  (English  dramatist):  164. 

Chambers,  Haddon  (English  dram- 
atist): 471. 

Chambers,  Robert  William  (Amer- 
ican novelist):  play  by,  produced  by 
Augustin  Daly,  131. 

"Charles   I."   (play):  403. 

Charles,  the  Eirst,  King  of  England, 
&c:  57. 

Charles,  the  Second,  King  of  England, 
&c:  55;  124. 

Charterhouse,  the,  in  London  (school) : 
57. 

Chatterton,  Thomas  (poet):  stage 
misrepresentation  of,  60. 

"Childe  Harold"  (poem):  266;  278. 

Children  of  the  Ghetto,"  "The  (play 
— based  on  the  novel)  :  produced  in 
New  York,  197;  243;  novel  — 
theme  and  quality  of,  449-451 ;  play 
derived  from,  story  and  quality  of, 
and  performance  of  it,  considered, 
452-456. 

Chimes  of  Normandy,"  "The  (opera)  : 
74. 

Chimney  Corner,"  "The    (play):   182. 

Christian,"  "The  (play — based  on  the 
novel):  produced,  435;  novel  of, 
436,  et  seq.;  play  differs  from  novel, 
438;  story  and  quality  of,  consid- 
ered, 438-443;  letters  relative  to 
American    production    of,    443-449. 

Chronicle,"  "The  London  (news- 
paper) :  613. 

Churchill,  Charles  (English  satirical 
poet) :  474. 

Cibber,  Colley  (old-time  English  ac- 
tor, dramatist,  theatrical  manager, 
and  poet  laureate):  124;  125;  148; 
164;    173. 

Cibber,  Mrs.  Theophilus  (Susannah 
Maria  Arne),  (old-time  English 
actress) :  141 ;  151. 

City  Directory,"  "The  (play):  177. 

Clapp,  Henry,  Jr.  (American  journal- 
ist): 461. 

Clarendon,  Lord:  opinion  of  the 
Clergy,  and  concurred  in  by  author, 
635. 

Clarke,  Annie  (American  actress) : 
518. 

Clarke,  Creston  (American  actor) :  68. 


INDEX 


657 


Clarke,  George  (American  actor) : 
204. 

Clarke,  John  Sleeper  (American- 
English  actor  and  theatrical  man- 
ager): leases  London  theatres,  609. 

"Claudian"  (play) :  story  and  quality 
of,  central  character  in,  and  Wilson 
Barrett's  personation  of,  considered, 
410-420. 

Cleopatra,  Queen  of  Egypt:  583. 

Clergy,  the:  slanderous  charges  by, 
against  the  Stage,  632;  letter  by  au- 
thor, rebuking  such,  and  misstate- 
ments of  his  views,  632-635;  resent- 
ment toward,  in  plays,  and  compila- 
tion of  records  of  crimes  of,  by 
actors,  635;  statistics  on  immorality 
of,  compiled  by  Davidge  and  by 
Robson,  636;  author's  conclusion  as 
to  cause  of  their  hostility  toward 
the  Stage,  and  investigation  of  rec- 
ords of  crimes  of,  in  recent  news- 
paper reports,  637-647;  injustice  of 
wholesale  condemnation  of  because 
of  individual  wrong-doing,  647; 
self-sacrificing  goodness  among, 
648. 

Clergymen:  criminal,  crimes  com- 
mitted by,  punishment  imposed,  ex- 
amples cited  from  newspaper  press, 
641-647. 

Climbers,"  "The  (play) :  produced, 
197;    242. 

Cloister  and  the  Hearth,"  "The 
(novel):   270;    443. 

"Clothes"  (play):  Frank  Worthing 
injured  during  performance  of,  198. 

Coghlan,  Charles  F.  (English-Ameri- 
can actor,  theatrical  manager,  and 
dramatist):  195;  200;  advantages 
of,  mentioned,  204;  his  performance 
of  Alec  D'Urberville,  alluded  to, 
272. 

Coke,   Henry:  57. 

Coleridge,  Samuel  Taylor  (poet,  critic, 
&c):  220. 

"Colinette"  (play)  :  produced  in  New 
York,  and  Julia  Marlowe's  perform- 
ance in,  considered,  80-82. 

Collier,  Constance  (Mrs.  Julian  L'Es- 
trange),  (English  actress):  per- 
formance of  Nancy  by,  in  "Oliver 
Twist,"    characterized,    514. 

Collins,  William  Wilkie  (English 
novelist  and  dramatist):  198;  213; 
quoted,  on  the  effect  of  love,  441. 


"Colombe's  Birthday"    (play):  75. 

"Colonel  Carter  of  Cartersville" 
(play — based  on  novel) :  quality 
and  theme  of,  533-537. 

Colonna,  Ascanius,  Cardinal:  636. 

"Comedy  and  Tragedy"  (play) :  writ- 
ten by  Gilbert  for  Mary  Anderson, 
42;  Clarice  in,  and  Mary  Ander- 
son's personation  of,  45-46. 

Comedy,  Old  English  (see  Old  Eng- 
lish). 

Comedy  Theatre,  London:  Ada  Rehan 
and  Daly's  Company  act  at,  130. 

Comedy  Theatre  (William  Collier's), 
New  York:  "The  Three  Daughters 
of  M.  Dupont"  produced  at,  374; 
the  same,  391. 

Congreve,  William  (English  dram-" 
atist):    109;    151. 

Coppee,  Francois  (French  dramatist): 
75;  151. 

Coquelin,  Benoit-Constant  (French 
actor):  224. 

"Cosmos"  (play):  563. 

Couldock,  Charles  Walter  (English- 
American  actor):  mentioned  as 
Hamlet,  50;  183;  528. 

Countess  Gucki,"  "The  (play):  130. 

Country  Girl,"  "The  (play):  refined 
by  Daly,   148. 

Country  Wife,"  "The  (play):  based 
by  Wycherley  on  Moliere,  and  al- 
tered by  Garrick,  and  by  Daly,  148; 
149. 

Courier-Journal,"  "The  Louisville 
(newspaper) :   mentioned,   545. 

Covent  Garden  Theatre,  London, 
James  Henry  Hackett  acts  at,  610. 

Crabbe,  George  (the  poet):  424;  458. 

Crane,  William  H.  (American 
actor) :  appears  in  "David  Harum," 
456;  performance  of  in  that  play, 
457,  et  seq.;  performance  of,  in 
"Fortune's  Fool,"  characterized,  462. 

Creel,  George  (Police  Commissioner 
of   Denver,  Col.):   261. 

Creel,  Mrs.  George,  see  Bates, 
Blanche. 

"Crime  and  Punishment"  (novel) : 
plays  based  on,  70-71. 

Criterion  Theatre,  New  York:  "Bar- 
bara Frietchie,"  produced  at,  82; 
"When  Knighthood  Was  in  Flow- 
er," produced  at,  84;  "Du  Barry," 
produced  at,  324;  333;  "Iris,"  pro- 
duced  at,  463. 


658 


INDEX 


Critic,"  "The  (play):  149;  Ada 
Rehan  acts  Tilburina  in,  150. 

Criticism:  contemporary  dramatic, 
quality  of  much  of  it,  7;  province 
and    privilege    of,   529. 

Croly,  Rev.  George  (novelist):  412. 

Croiiiwcll,  Oliver,  Lord  Protector,  &.C.: 
55. 

Crosinan,  Henrietta  (Mrs.  Maurice 
Campbell):  324. 

Crushed  Tragedian,"  "The  (play): 
47. 

Cumberland,  Richard  (English  dram- 
atist): 149. 

Cup,"  "The    (play):  5. 

Curse  of  Kchama,"  "The  (poem)  :  231. 

Cushman,  Charlotte  Saunders  (Amer- 
ican actress):  2;  advice  of,  to  Mary 
Anderson,  3-4;  144;  first  appearance 
of,  as  Nancy,  in  "Oliver  Twist," 
mentioned,  517;  518;  author's  remi- 
niscence of,  as  Nancy,  and  attributes 
of  her  character,  518,  et  seq.;  522; 
609;  615;  her  first  appearance  on 
stage,  and  first  appearance  of,  as 
Lady  Macbeth,  mentioned,  616; 
first  appearance  of,  in  London,  and 
success  of,  in  Great  Britain,  616- 
617. 

Cushman,  Susan  (American  actress): 
acts  Juliet  to  Charlotte's  Borneo, 
617. 

"Cymbeline"   (play) :  75. 

"Cyrano  de  Bergerac"  (play) :  Eng- 
lish version  of,  produced  by  Augus- 
tin  Daly,  131;  Hall  Caine  on,  433- 
444. 

D 

Daly,  Arnold   (American  actor):  504. 

Daly,  Augustin  (American  theatrical 
manager  and  dramatist) :  attention 
of,  attracted  by  Ada  Rehan,  and 
engages  her,  127;  takes  his  theatri- 
cal company  on  European  tours, 
128,  et  seq.;  an  observer  and  stu- 
dent, 147;  refines  Garrick's  "The 
Countrv  Girl,"  148;  167;  engages 
Frank "  Worthing,  195;  201;  203; 
242;  486;  608;  presents  Ada  Rehan 
in  Great  Britain,  and  revivals  made 
by,  623;  takes  Miss  Rehan  and  his 
theatrical  company  to  France  and 
Germany,  and  builds  Daly's  Thea- 
tre,  London,  624-625;  634. 

Daly's  Theatre,  London:  corner-stone 


of,  laid,  129;  productions  made  at, 
625;  opened,  and  proves  most  valu- 
able part  of  Daly's  estate,  625. 

Daly's  Theatre,  New  York:  "Riche- 
lieu" revived  at,  by  E.  H.  Sothern, 
66;  Julia  Marlowe  acts  at,  76;  Ada 
Rehan's  first  appearance  at,  128; 
130;  "Much  Ado  About  Nothing" 
revived  at,  131;  "The  Critic"  revived 
at,  149,  166;  Frank  Worthing  makes 
first  New  York  appearance  at, 
195;    198;   202. 

Damien,  Father  (Roman  Catholic 
priest   and  missionary):  373. 

Dancer,  Mrs.  (Mrs.  Spranger  Barry, 
Mrs.  Crawford),  (old-time  English 
actress):  141. 

Dancing  Girl,"  "The   (play) :  48. 

D'Annunzio,  Gabriele  ( Rapag- 

netta),    (Italian   dramatist):   119. 

"Dante"   (play):  368. 

Darling  of  the  Gods,"  "The  (play): 
243;  produced  in  New  York,  252; 
story  and  quality  of,  and  persona- 
tion of  Yo-San  in,  by  Blanche 
Bates,  considered,  252-257;  403. 

Daudet,  Alphonse  (French  novelist): 
312;  313. 

Davenport,  Edward  Loomis  (Ameri- 
can actor  and  theatrical  manager) : 
cited  as  Hamlet,  50;  144;  517;  519; 
author's  reminiscences  of  his  per- 
sonation of  Bill  Sikes,  in  "Oliver 
Twist,"  523-524;  609;  acts  in  Eng- 
land with  Anna  Cora  Mowatt,  suc- 
cess of  there,  and  Knowles'  remark 
to,  626. 

Davenport,  Fanny  (Mrs.  Melbourne 
Macdowell),  (American  actress): 
127;  128;  144;  518. 

"David  Copperfield"  (novel):  108; 
stage  version  of,  mentioned,  527. 

Davidge,  William  Pleater  (American 
actor):  520;  his  "The  Drama  De- 
fended," and  records  of  clerical  im- 
morality compiled  by,  636. 

"David  Harum"  (play.— based  on  the 
novel):  produced,  456;  story  and 
quality  of,  and  performance  in,  by 
Wm.  H.  Crane,  considered,  456- 
462. 

Davies,  Thomas  (old-time  English  ac- 
tor  and    theatrical   historian):   173. 

Davis,  Lieut.  Milton  F.,  U.  S.  A.:  240. 

de  Banville,  Theodore  (French  dram- 
atist):  166. 


INDEX 


659 


de  Belleville,  Frederick  (American 
actor) :  267. 

Degenerates,"  "The    (play):  312. 

Dellenbaugh,  Mrs.  Harriet  Otis 
(American  actress):  494. 

De  Mille,  William  C —  (Ameri- 
can   playwright):    178. 

de  Navarro,  Antonio:  marriage  of, 
with  Mary  Anderson,  mentioned, 
12. 

de  Navarro,  Mrs.  Antonio,  see  Ander- 
son, Mary. 

"Denis  Duval"    (novel):  274. 

Deserted  Village,"  "The  (poem): 
537. 

Dickens  Centenary,  the:  prompts  re- 
vivals  of   Dickens'    Plays,   512. 

Dickens,  Charles  (the  novelist):  498; 
his  readings,  "impersonations"  from 
"Oliver  Twist,"  and  anecdote  of 
him,  related  by  his  son,  511;  de- 
clared purpose  of,  in  depicting 
criminals,  514;  proclivity  of,  521. 

"Diplomacy"    (play):   501. 

Disraeli,  Benjamin  (British  states- 
man and  novelist) :  451. 

"Divorce"  (play) :  revived,  and  Ada 
Rehan  acts  in,  128. 

"Divorcons"  (play) :  English  version 
of  by  Margaret  Mayo,  199;  version 
of,  revived,  by  Mrs.  Fiske,  264; 
Miss  Mayo's  version  produced  in 
London,    629. 

"Doctor  Jekyll  and  Mr.  Hyde" 
(play):  Richard  Mansfield  produces 
in  London,  628. 

Dodson,  J.  E.  (English- American 
actor) :  introduced  to  American 
Stage,  429;  acts  Fagin,  in  "Oliver 
Twist,"   515;    518. 

Doll's  House,"  "A  (play):  298;  561; 
analyzed  and  considered,  562-567; 
first  production  of,  in  America,  and 
in  New  York,  563. 

Doro,  Marie  (American  actress):  as 
Oliver  Twist,  515. 

D'Orsay,  Count:  60. 

Dostoievski,  Feodor  (Russian  novel- 
ist): 70. 

Dow,  Ada  (American  actress) :  Julia 
Marlowe  instructed  by,  74. 

Drama  Defended,"  "The  (pamphlet): 
636. 

Drama:  tendencies  in,  objected  to  and 
opposed,  380-388. 

Dramatic    Mirror,"    "The    New    York 


(theatrical  newspaper):  596;  letter 
to,  by  author,  quoted,  632;   633. 

Dramatists:  conspicuous  error  of,  il- 
lustrated, 553. 

Drew,  John  (the  Younger),  (Ameri- 
can actor)  :  first  appearance  of,  and 
associated  with  Ada  Rehan,  men- 
tioned, 126;  succeeded  by  Frank 
Worthing,   201;   204;   209. 

Drury  Lane  Theatre,  London:  James 
Henry  Hackett  acts  at,  610. 

Drvden,  John  (poet  and  dramatist) : 
150;   165. 

Du  Barry,  Countess:  324;  326. 

"Du  Barry"  (play):  produced  by 
David  Belasco  for  Mrs.  Carter,  324; 
story  and  quality  of,  and  perform- 
ance in  it  by  Mrs.  Carter,  consid- 
ered, 324-327. 

Dudley,  Caroline  Louise:  see  Carter, 
Mrs.  Leslie. 

Duff,  Mary  Anne  (Mary  Dyke, — Mrs. 
John  R.  Duff,— Mrs.  Joel  G. 
Sevier),  (old-time  English- Amer- 
ican actress) :  141. 

Dunlap,  William  (early  American 
theatrical  manager  and  theatrical 
historian):  608. 

Duse,  Eleanora  (Italian  actress): 
262;  311;  341. 

Dyott,  John  (American  actor)  :  517. 

E 

Eaglet,"  "The  (play— see  also, 
Aiglon,"  "L'):  210;  story  of,  and 
performance  in,  by  Maude  Adams, 
considered,  218-226. 

Easiest  WTay,"  "The  (play):  376;  404; 
produced,  479 ;  quality  and  story  of, 
and  effect  of  its  presentation,  con- 
sidered, 479-488. 

Echegaray,  Jos6  (Spanish  dramatist): 
first  of  his  (translated)  plays  pro- 
duced in  New  York,  347;  348;  349. 

"Egeria"  (poem):  26. 

"Electra"  (play — English  version  of)  : 
produced  in  New  York,  story  and 
quality  of,  and  personation  of  its 
heroine,  by  Mrs.  Patrick  Campbell, 
considered,   361-367. 

Eliot,  George  (the  novelist) :  play  on 
her  "Romola,"  mentioned,  75. 

Elliott,  Maxine  (Mrs.  George  A.  Mc- 
Dermott,— Mrs.  Nathaniel  C.  Good- 
win),   (American    actress):    leaves 


GGO 


INDEX 


Daly's  Company  with  Frank  Worth- 
ing," 196;    197.' 

Ellis,  Havelock  (American  psycho- 
therapist,  author,  &c.) :  589. 

Ellsler,  John  (American  theatrical 
manager) :  608. 

Elssler,  Fanny  (Mine,  von  Barnim), 
(Austrian  dancer) :  217. 

Emmet,  Joseph  K.  (American  actor, 
—"Fritz")  :  209. 

Empire  Theatre,  New  York:  "In- 
gomar'  revived  at,  78;  "The  Little 
Minister"  produced  at,  211; 
"Romeo  and  Juliet"  revived  at,  213; 
"The  Pretty  Sister  of  Jose"'  pro- 
duced at,  229;  "What  Every 
Woman  Knows"  produced  at,  235; 
607. 

Enemy  of  the  People,"  "An  (play) : 
561;  produced,  575;  quality  of,  and 
considered,    575-577;    585. 

Enigma,"  "The  (play)  :  310. 

Esmond,     Henry     V (English 

dramatist) :  76. 

Euripides,  364. 

Eytinge,  Rose  (Mrs.  David  M. 
Barnes, — Mrs.  George  Butler, — 
Mrs. )  :  518. 


Fagin,  in  stage  version  of  "Oliver 
Twist";  conspicuous  performers  of, 
518. 

Falcon,"  "The   (play):  5. 

"Family  Jars"    (play):   614. 

"Far  From  the  Madding  Crowd" 
(novel):  267. 

Farquhar,  George  (English  dram- 
atist):   148;    153;    164. 

Fascinating  Mrs.  Vandervelt,"  "The 
(play) :  produced  in  New  York, 
198. 

"Fashion"  (play) :  produced  in  Lon- 
don, 626. 

Faucit,  Helena  (Mrs.,  afterward 
Lady,  Theodore  Martin),  (English 
actress):  2;  reputation  of,  as  Rosa- 
lind, 21. 

"Faust"  (play):  403. 

Faversham,  William  (English-Ameri- 
can actor):  214;   210. 

Fawcett,  George  (American  actor): 
574. 

"Fazio"  (play) :  Charlotte  Cushman 
acts  in,  in  London,  616. 


"Festus"   (poem):  319;  563. 

Fields,  "Lew"  (American  Music  Hall 
manager  and  performer) :  177. 

Fifth  Avenue  Theatre,  New  York: 
Frank  Worthing  and  Maxine  El- 
liott appear  at,  as  "co-stars,"  196; 
"Magda"  revived  at,  212;  "Little 
Italy"  produced  at,  264;  "Tess  of 
the  D'Urbervilles"  produced  at, 
270;  "Becky  Sharp"  produced  at, 
273;  (Proctor's)  Comyns-Carr's 
version  of  "Oliver  Twist"  produced 
at,  515;  "Oliver  Goldsmith"  pro- 
duced at,  538. 

Fighting  Hope,"  "A  (play):  243. 

Fisher,  Charles  (American  actor): 
486;  517. 

Fiske,  Harrison  Grey  (American 
journalist  and  theatrical  manager): 
404;  advocacy  of  Ibsen  by,  consid- 
ered  and   refuted,   596,   et  seq. 

Fiske,  Mrs.  Harrison  Grey  (Minnie 
Maddern),  (American  actress): 
Studies  of  her  Acting,  261-308; 
revives  "Magda,"  262;  story  and 
quality  of  that  play,  and  her  per- 
sonation of  its  heroine,  considered, 
262-264;  produces  "Little  Italy," 
and  acts  in  it,  264;  story  and  quality 
of  that  play,  and  her  personation 
in  it,  considered,  264-267;  produces 
"Tess  of  the  D'Urbervilles,"  270; 
story  and  quality  of,  and  her  per- 
sonation of  Tess  in,  considered,  270- 
273;  produces  "Becky  Sharp"  (based 
on  "Vanity  Fair"),  273;  character 
of  (dramatized)  Becky  Sharp,  and 
her  personation  of,  considered,  280- 
286;  produces  "Leah  Kleschna," 
and  acts  heroine  of,  286;  story  and 
quality  of  that  play,  and  her  per- 
sonation of  Leah,  considered,  295- 
298;  condemnation  of  Ibsen  plays 
by,  297;  gives  currency  to  "the 
Ibsen  drama,"  298;  produces  "  Ros- 
mersholm,"  299;  story  and  quality 
of  that  play,  and-  her  personation 
of  Rebecca  West  in,  considered, 
299-305;  humanitarian  sympathy  of, 
305;  produces  "Salvation  Nell," 
306;  story  and  quality  of  that  play, 
and  her  personation  of  Nell  in,  con- 
sidered, 306-308;  341;  561;  revives 
"The  Pillars  of  Society,"  574;  influ- 
ence of,  in  practical  support  of  the 
"Ibsen    Movement,"    594,    et    seq.; 


INDEX 


661 


Ibsen    declared    to    be    a    "baneful 
influence,"   by,  595. 

Fitch,  William  Clyde  (American 
playwright) :  writes  "  Barbara 
Frietchie,"  82;  197;  313;  376. 

Florence,  William  James  (Conlin), 
(Irish-American  actor):  609;  suc- 
cess of,  and  Mrs.  Florence,  in  Eng- 
land, 627. 

Fool  Hath  Said,  'There  Is  No  God,' " 
"The  (play):  48;  dramatized  from 
"Crime  and  Punishment,"  produced 
by  E.  H.  Sothern,  70;  another  ver- 
sion of,  by  Charles  Henry  Meltzer, 
and  Richard  Mansfield  in,  71;  story 
and  quality  of,  and  Mr.  Sothern's 
performance  in,  71-73;  368. 

"Fools  of  Nature"   (play)  :  76. 

"For  Bonnie  Prince  Charlie"  (play)  : 
75. 

Forbes-Robertson,  Sir  Johnston,  Kt. 
(English  actor,  theatrical  manager, 
artist,  &c):  384. 

Foresters,"  "The  (play)  :  read  to  Au- 
gustin  Daly  and  Ada  Rehan  by 
Tennyson,  and  production  of,  129. 

"Forget  Me  Not"  (play)  :  production 
of,  405;  story  and  quality  of,  char- 
acter of  Stejrfianie  De  Mohrivart 
in,  and  personation  of,  by  Gene- 
vieve Ward,  considered,  405-410. 

Forrest,  Edwin  (American  actor) : 
mentioned  as  Hamlet,  50;  67;  144; 
609;  first  appearance  of,  and  ap- 
pearance of  in  London,  mentioned, 
611,  et  seq.:  anecdote  of,  612;  Eng- 
lish high  critical  commendation  of, 
613;  intense  dislike  of,  for  Charlotte 
Cushman,  617. 

"Fortune's  Fool"  (play) :  perform- 
ance in,  by  William  H.  Crane,  char- 
acterized, 462. 

Fox,  Charles  James  (British  states- 
man): 500. 

Foxe,  John    (clergyman-author) :  358. 

Franklin  Theatre,  New  York:  version 
of  "Oliver  Twist"  produced  at,  512; 
517. 

Frawley,  Timothy  Daniel  (American 
actor  and  "stock"  theatrical  man- 
ager): 196:  240. 

"Fritz,"  plays:  209. 

Frohman,  Charles  (American  specula- 
tive     theatrical      manager):      210 
"apostolic    sanction    of,"   333;   463 
on    American    actors    abroad,    606 


acquires  "Shenandoah,"  and  begin- 
ning of  his  theatrical  enterprise, 
607;  624. 

"Frou-Frou"   (play) :  310. 

Fry,  Horace  B.  (American  journalist 
and  dramatist) :  264. 

G 

Gaiety  Theatre,  London:  "The  Rail- 
road of  Love"  produced  at,  and 
Ada    Rehan    acts    in,    623. 

Gainsborough,  Thomas  (English  art- 
ist): 137. 

Galatea,  character  of,  in  "Pygmalion 
and  Galatea":  meaning  of  the,  as 
acted   by   Mary   Anderson,  43. 

Garden  Theatre,  New  York:  E.  H. 
Sothern  revives  "Hamlet"  at,  51 ; 
E.  H.  Sothern  produces  "Richard 
Lovelace"  at,  54;  E.  H.  Sothern 
produces  "If  I  Were  King"  at,  63; 
Frank  Worthing  and  Maxine  Elliott 
appear  at,  as  "co-stars,"  196;  "Un- 
der Two  Flags"  produced  at,  249; 
"Aunt  Jeannie"  produced  at,  354; 
"Electra"  (English  version  of)  pro- 
duced  at,   362. 

Garrick,  David  (English  actor,  the- 
atrical manager,  and  dramatist) : 
first  appearance  of,  and  comments 
on,  by  Macklin  and  Pope,  6;  127; 
many  portraits  of,  142;  148;  151; 
539." 

Garrick  Theatre,  Detroit:  death  of 
Frank  Worthing  at,  192. 

Garrick  Theatre,  New  York:  "Cath- 
erine" acted  at,  196;  "David  Harum" 
produced  at,  456;  "Mrs.  Warren's 
Profession"  produced  at,  504. 

Gattie,  A.  W.  (English  dramatist): 
309. 

Gay  Lord  Quex,"   "The    (play):  494. 

Geisha,"  "The    (comic  opera):   131. 

George,  Grace  (Mrs.  William  A 

Brady),  (American  actress):  198; 
199;   makes   "hit,"   in   London,  629. 

George,  the  First,  King  of  England, 
&c;  anecdote,  358. 

George,  the  Third,  King  of  England, 
&c. ;   anecdote,  358. 

"Get  Busy  with  Emily"  (musical 
play):  390;  509.      x 

"Ghosts"  (play):  561;  produced  in 
New  York,  567;  story  and  quality 
of,  and  performance  in,  and  views 
of,    of    Miss    Mary    Shaw,    consid- 


662 


INDEX 


ered,  507-571 ;  ground  of  objection 
to,  568;   600. 
Gibbon,  Edward    (the  historian):  539. 
Gilbert,      John      Gibbs      (American 
actor):    144;    183;  556. 

Gilbert,  Mrs.  George  H (Anne 

.lane    Hartley),    (English-American 
actress):  203;  480. 
Gilbert,    Sir    William    Schenck    (Eng- 
lish dramatist) :  writes  "Comedy  and 
Tragedy"   for  Mary   Anderson,  42; 
238;  353;  434;  468. 
Gillette,     William     (American     actor 
and    playwright) :    success     of,    in 
London,   029. 
Gilmour,  John  H.   (American  actor) : 

226. 
Girl  in  the  Taxi,"  "The   (play):  509. 
Girl    of    the     Golden     West,"     "The 
(play):  243;  story  and  quality  of, 
257-261. 
Girl     with     the     Whooping     Cough," 
"The    (musical   play):  390;   509. 

Gladstane,  (English  theatrical 

manager):  615. 
Goddess  of  Reason,"  "The  (play): 
produced  at  Daly's  Theatre,  New 
York,  76. 
"Godefroi  and  Yolande"  (play):  368; 
produced  in  America,  309;  story  and 
quality  of,  369-373;  Ellen  terry 
acts  in,  372. 

Godwin,   E W (English 

artist):  411. 
Goebel  Case:  mentioned,  545. 
Goethe,     John     Wolfgang     von     (the 

poet):  254;  402. 
Goldsmith,     Oliver      (the     poet     and 
dramatist):      misrepresented,      60; 
144;   402;    illuminating   remark   by, 
on  his  character,  537;  538;  539. 
Gompertz,  Samuel  W. :  504. 
Goodwin,   Nathaniel   Cheever    (Amer- 
ican  actor):    197;   performance   of 
Fagin  by,  in  "Oliver  Twist,"  char- 
acterized, 514,  et  seq. 
Gosse,    Edmund    (Englisb    critic   and 
reviewer) :   style   of,   in   translation, 
584. 
Gottschalk,  Ferdinand   (American  ac- 
tor) :  in  "The  Thunderbolt,"  493. 
Grand  Army  Man,"  "A   (play)  :  pro- 
duced,   178;    the    same,    18*2;    story 
and  quality  of,  and  David  Warfield's 
personation    of    Wes'    Bigelow    in, 
considered,    182-187. 


"Grandfather  Whitehead"  (play) : 
182. 

Grand  Opera  House,  Chicago:  E.  H. 
Sothern  and  Julia  Marlowe  act  to- 
gether for  first  time,  at,  76. 

Grand  Opera  House,  New  York:  Ada 
Rehan  acting  at,  127. 

Grand  Theatre  (old),  Islington  (Lon- 
don): Daly's  Company  and  Ada 
Rehan  act  at,  131. 

Graves,  Clo.   (playwright) :  170. 

Gray,   David:   458. 

Great  dramatic  performances:  effect 
of,  522,  et  seq. 

Great  Hoggarty  Diamond,"  "The 
(novel):  274. 

Great  Ruby,"  "The  (play) :  last  play 
produced  by  Augustin  Daly,  132; 
242. 

Greater  Testament,"  "The:  63. 

Greek  Tragedy:  themes  of,  considered, 
363-365. 

Greeley,  Horace  (American  journal- 
ist): 461. 

"Gringoire"  (play):  similarity  of  "If 
I  Were  King"  to,  65;  373. 

Grundy,  Sidney  (English  dramatist): 
434. 

"Guy  Mannering"  (novel) :  131. 

Gwyn,  Mrs.  ( Horneck: 

538. 

Gwvnn,  Nell  (early  English  actress) : 
636. 


H 


Hackett,  James  Henry  (American  ac- 
tor): 609;  his  Falstajf  accepted  in 
London,  and  various  performances 
by,   there,   610;   633. 

Hackett,  James  Keteltas  (American 
actor  and  theatrical  manager):  214; 
216. 

Hackett  Theatre,  New  York  (now 
the  Harris):  199;  "Salvation  Nell" 
produced  at,  306;  "The  Incubus" 
produced  at,  373;  "The  Witching 
Hour"  produced  at,  541. 

Hackney,  Mabel  (Mrs.  Laurence 
Irving),  (English  actress):  373; 
395. 

Hading,  Jane   (French  actress):  125. 

Haines,  Robert  T.  (American  actor) : 
585. 

Haldeman,  Rev.  Dr.  I.  M.:  insult  to 
the  Theatre  by,  638. 


INDEX 


663 


Hall,  Stafford  (English  scenic  artist): 
411. 

Hamilton,  Alexander  (American  sol- 
dier and  statesman):  483. 

Hamilton,   Lady   Emma:  60. 

"Hamlet"  (play):  predominant  theme 
of,  specified,  17-18;  48;  E.  H.  Soth- 
ern's  revivals  of,  and  his  persona- 
tion of  central  part  in,  considered, 
49-54;  77;  219;  403;  Edwin  Booth 
and  Henry  Irving  act  together  in, 
618. 

Hamlet,  in  "Hamlet":  obstacles  in  the 
way  of  most  actors  attempting,  49, 
et  seq. 

Hammerstein,  Oscar  (American  the- 
atrical and  operatic  manager) :  404. 

Hann,  Walter  (English  scenic  artist): 
411. 

Hannetons,"  "Les  (play — see,  also 
"Affinity,"  "The,  and  Incubus," 
"The):  392;  395. 

"Hard  Cash"    (novel):  275. 

Harding,  Lyn  (English  actor):  per- 
formance as  Bill  Sikes,  character- 
ized, 514. 

Hardy,  Thomas  (English  novelist): 
267;  pervading  quality  of  his, 
novels,  268;  quality  of  his  "Tess," 
268-270;  272. 

Hare  (Fairs),  Sir  John,  Kt.  (English 
actor  and  theatrical  manager):  611. 

Harned,  Virginia  (Mrs.  Edward  Hugh 
Sothern, — Mrs.  William  Courtney), 
(American  actress):  118;  434;  as 
Iris  Bellamy,  in  "Iris,"  469. 

"Harold"    (novel):  270. 

"Harper's  Weekly":  388. 

Harte,  Francis  Bret  (American  poet 
and  novelist):  242;  546. 

Harvest  Moon,"  "The   (play)  :  403. 

Hauptmann,  Gerhart  (German  dram- 
atist): 76;  119. 

Haverley,  John  H.  (American  specu- 
lative  theatrical  manager) :  608. 

Hawthorne,  Nathaniel  (American 
novelist) :  comparison  of  the  meth- 
ods of,  and  Henrik  Ibsen,  578. 

Haymarket  Theatre,  London:  Edwin 
Booth  makes  first  London  appear- 
ance at,  618. 
Heart  of  Mid-Lothian,"  "The  (play- 
on  the  novel) :  186. 
"Hedda  Gabler"  (play) :  produced, 
295;  story  and  quality  of,  and  per- 
sonation   of    heroine    of,    by    Mrs. 


Fiske,     considered,     295-298;     561; 
600. 

"Helma"  (play— see  Doll's  House," 
"A)  :  298. 

"Henriette"  (play)  :  202. 

"Henry  Esmond"  (novel):  270;  273. 

Henry,  the  Eighth,  King  of  England, 
&c:  85. 

Herald  Square  Theatre,  New  York: 
197;  "The  Labyrinth"  produced  at, 
317;  "The  Children  of  the  Ghetto" 
produced    at,   451. 

Herbert,  Sidney  (English-American 
actor) ;  acts  Shy  lock,  132. 

Herman,  Henry  (English  dramatist): 
411. 

Hermione,  in  "The  Winter's  Tale": 
qualities  of  the  character,  and  Mary 
Anderson's  personation  of,  consid- 
ered, 28-35;  usual  representation  of, 
and  age  of,  30;  celestial  quality  of 
womanhood  in,  31. 

Heron,  Matilda  (American  actress) : 
2;  aspiration  of,  317;  personation 
of  Nancy,  in  "Oliver  Twist,"  by, 
516. 

Hervieu,  Paul  (French  dramatist): 
310;  318. 

His  Majesty's  Theatre,  London:  ver- 
sion of  "  Oliver  Twist"  produced  at, 
513. 

Hitchcock,  M.  W.,  460. 

Hitchcock,  Ripley  (American  jour- 
nalist and  playwright):  443;  460. 

Hoefmanthal,  (German  dram- 
atist):  364. 

Hogarth,  William  (the  artist):  495. 

Holland,  Edmund  Milton  (American 
actor):  in  "The  Thunderbolt,"  493; 
personates  Colonel  Carter,  and 
artistic  rank  of,  536. 

Holland,  George,  the  Elder  (English- 
American   actor) :   517. 

Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell  (physician, 
poet,  novelist,  &c.)  :  remark  on  his- 
torical events,  by,  326;  394. 

Honeymoon,"  "The  (play) :  196. 

Hopwood,  Avery  (American  play- 
wright) :  245. 

Horneck,  Mary:  538. 

Houghton,  Richard  Monckton  Milnes, 
first  Lord   (poet):  458. 

House  Next  Door,"  "The  (play) :  403. 

House  of  Cards,"  "A  (play) :  196. 

House  of  the  Seven  Gables,"  "The 
(novel):  578. 


664 


INDEX 


Howard,  Bronson  (American  dram- 
atist): fin?. 

Howard,  Mrs.  George  Cunnibell  (Car- 
oline Fox),  (American  actress): 
.MS. 

Hovt,  C'liarles  (American  dramatist): 
209. 

Hugo,  Victor  (French  novelist  and 
dramatist):  287. 

Hunchback,"  "The  (play):  Mary  An- 
derson's personation  of  Julia  in, 
and  nature  of  her  success  in,  41- 
42;  74;   163;  617. 

Huneker,  James  (American  journal- 
ist, essayist,  &c):  on  "Master 
Builder  Solness,"  581;  advocacy  of 
Ibsen  by,  589,  et  seq. 

Hyperion  Theatre,  New  Haven: 
"Mrs.  Warren's  Profession"  pro- 
duced   at,    503. 


Ibsen,  Henrik  (Norwegian  poet, 
"dramatist,"  and  social  agitator) : 
condemnation  of,  by  Mrs.  Fiske, 
296;  297;  356;  desire  of,  380;  brief 
biographical  record,  relative  to,  559- 
560;  Studies  of  his  representative 
plays,  and  effect  of  their  produc- 
tion, 560-590;  shown  at  his  best,  585; 
summary  regarding  his  plays,  their 
advocates,  and  their  influence,  590- 
605;  immense  inferiority  of,  to 
Charles  Reade,  593;  Mrs.  Fiske  on, 
594-595;  advocacy  of,  by  H.  G. 
Fiske,  considered  and  refuted,  596, 
et  seq.;  "technique"  of,  and  ad- 
vocacy of,  by  James  Huneker,  598, 
et  seq.;  Hjalmar  Hjorth  Boyesen 
on,  and  his  "mission,"  600. 

"If  I  Were  King"  (play):  48;  pro- 
duced, 63;  story  and  quality  of,  64- 
65;  and  E.  H.  Sothern's  perform- 
ance in,  65-66. 

Ellington,  Margaret  (Mrs.  Daniel 
Frohman, — Mrs.  Edgar  J.  Boyes), 
(American  actress):  as  Mrs.  Voy- 
sin,  in  "The  Thief,"  477. 

Inchbald,  Mrs.  Joseph  (Frances  Simp- 
son),   (English   dramatist):   164. 

Inconstant,"  "The    (play):   149. 

Incubus,"  "The  (play— see  Affinity," 
"The,  and  Hannctons,"  "Les) :  pro- 
duced in  America,  373;  quality  and 
story  of,  373-374. 


"In  Gay  New  York"  (musical  ex- 
travaganza) :   177. 

"Ingomar"  (play):  Julia  Marlowe 
acts  Parthema  in,  74;  quality  of,  77 
and  80;  produced  by  Julia  Mar- 
lowe, 78;  and  her  personation  of 
Parthenia  in,  78-80;  revived  at 
Lyceum  Theatre,  London,  622. 

Inspector,"  "The   (play):  176. 

International     Match,"    "An     (play) 
162. 

"Iris"     (play):    367;    produced,    463 
quality  and  story  of,  and  effect  of 
presentation,     considered,     463-471 
494. 

Irish,  Annie  (Mrs.  J.  E.  Dodson), 
(English-American  actress):  271. 

Irving,  Laurence  (English  actor  and 
dramatist):  his  play  of  "Richard 
Lovelace"  produced  by  E.  H. 
Sothern,  54;  his  treatment  of  the 
character  of  Lovelace,  59-60;  62; 
his  play  of  "The  Fool  Hath  Said, 
'There  Is  No  God ' "  produced  by 
E.  H.  Sothern,  70;  essay  on  his 
professional  activities  in  America, 
368-404;  plays  of,  and  first  visits 
America,  368;  produces,  and  acts  in, 
"Gringoire,"  and  "The  Incubus," 
in  America,  373;  returns  to 
America,  and  produces  "The  Three 
Daughters  of  M.  Dupont,"  and  his 
production  of,  considered,  375-378; 
offended  by  author's  views  and  ex- 
pression of  them,  388;  his  views  of 
drama  and  theatrical  management, 
examined  and  refuted,  388,  et  seq.; 
his  summary  of  the  subjects  of  M. 
Brieux's   plays,    392-393. 

Irving  Place  Theatre,  New  York: 
"The  Pillars  of  Society"  produced 
at,   574. 

Irving,  Sir  Henry,  Kt.  (John  Henry 
Brodribb),  (English  theatrical  man- 
ager and  actor):  67;  and  Ellen 
Terry,  in  "Much  Ado  About  Noth- 
ing," alluded  to,  96;-  187;  Frank 
Worthing  in  theatrical  company  of, 
194;  200;  250;  305;  368:  528;  608; 
acts  in  "Hamlet,"  with  Edwin 
Booth  in  youth,  618;  acts  Hamlet 
200  consecutive  times,  and  Edwin 
Booth  in  competition  with,  619;  ar- 
rangement with  Booth,  and  acts 
with,  in  "Othello,"  619-620;  "the 
best  Malvolio,"  629. 


INDEX 


665 


Irving,  Washington   (romancer,  &c): 

his    "Life    of    Oliver    Goldsmith," 

mentioned,  540. 
"Is    Matrimony   a    Failure?"    (play): 

199. 
"It's     Never     too     Late     to     Mend" 

(play— on  the  novel):  289;  306. 
"Ivanhoe"    (novel):   270. 


Jacobites,"  "Les  (play — French  origi- 
nal of  "For  Bonnie  Prince  Char- 
lie") :  75. 

James,  George  Payne  Rainsford 
(English  novelist):  233. 

James,  Louis  (American  actor):  517; 
death  of,  alluded  to,  561. 

Jameson,  Mrs.  Anna  (critic  and  es- 
sayist) :  on  Hermionc,  in  "The  Win- 
ter's Tale,"  31 ;  538. 

James,  the  First,  King  of  England, 
&c:    81. 

Jarrett,  Henry  C.  (American  specula- 
tive theatrical  manager) :  608. 

"Jeanne  D'Arc"  (play)  :  76. 

Jefferson,  Joseph  (American  actor): 
6;  mentioned  as  Rip  Van  Winkle, 
74;  engages  Julia  Marlowe  to  act 
in  "The  Rivals,"  76;  144;  David 
Warfield  compared  with,  175;  187; 
version  of  "Oliver  Twist"  by,  pro- 
duced at  the  Winter  Garden  Thea- 
tre, 516;  517;  536;  609;  eclipses 
James  Henry  Hackett,  as  Rip  Van 
Winkle,  610. 

Jeffreys,  Ellis  (English- American  ac- 
tress) :    198. 

Jeffries,  Maude  (English  actress): 
425. 

Jerrold,  Douglas  (English  critic, 
novelist,  dramatist,  &c.) :  enthusi- 
astic commendation  of  Edwin  For- 
rest by,  quoted,  613. 

Jessamy  Bride,"  "The  (novel)  :  541. 

"Jessie  Brown"  (play) ;  how  sug- 
gested to  Dion  Boucicault,  82. 

Jesters,"  "The  (play— "Les  Buf- 
fons"):  produced,  232;  story  and 
quality  of,  and  performance  in,  by 
Maude  Adams,  considered,  233-235. 

"Jim  the  Penman"   (play):  501;  598. 

"Johannes"  ("John  the  Baptist") 
(play):    76. 

"John    the    Baptist"    (play— "Johan- 


nes"): 76;  produced  (in  English) 
in  New  York,  105;  story  and  quality 
of,  and  performances  in,  by  E.  H. 
Sothern  and  Julia  Marlowe,  consid- 
ered, 105-113;  the  opinions  of  Mr. 
Sothern  and  Miss  Marlowe,  con- 
cerning, considered,  113-116. 

"John  Gabriel  Borkman"  (play): 
561. 

Johnson,  Ben  (American  actor) :  in 
"  The  Thunderbolt,"  493. 

Johnson,  Dr.  Samuel:  remark  of, 
quoted,  217;  360;  remark  on  Gold- 
smith, quoted,  537;  centre  of  liter- 
ary group,  539. 

Johnson,  "Tom":  517;  520. 

Johnston,  Mary  (American  novelist 
and  playwright) :  76. 

Jones,  Edward  (English  musical  com- 
poser) :  411. 

Jones,  Henry  Arthur  (English  dram- 
atist): 194;  238;  391;  402;  434;  on 
"the  dramatic  movement,"  463;  573. 

Jones,  Mrs.  G.  W.  (American  ac- 
tress) :  518. 

Jonson,  Ben  (poet  and  dramatist) : 
165. 

Jordan,  Dora  (Dorothea  Bland), 
(English  actress):  style  of  Rosa- 
lind, 20;    159. 

Jordan,  George  Clifford  (American 
actor) :  517. 

Jodrell  Theatre,  London:  first  ap- 
pearance of  Frank  Worthing  in 
London,  made  at,  194. 

Journal,  author's  dramatic:  "Leaves 
from,"  333. 

Joy  of  Living,"  "The  (play) :  produc- 
tion of,  story  and  quality  of,  and 
performance  by  Mrs.  Patrick 
Campbell  in,   considered,  355-358. 

"Judah"    (play):   501;   573. 

Juliet,  in  "  Romeo  and  Juliet":  na- 
ture of  the  character,  and  Mary 
Anderson's  personation  of,  consid- 
ered, 14-19. 


K 


Kahn,   Florence    (American  actress) : 

562. 
"Katharine    and    Petruchio"     (play — 

Garrick's  version  of  "The  Taming  of 

the    Shrew"):    Ada    Rehan    acting 

Bianca  in,   127, 


<><;<> 


INDEX 


Kean,  Edmund  (English  nctor):  60; 
tradition  of,  mentioned,  ITS ;  imita- 
tions of,  by  the  Elder  Hackett, 
mentioned,  610;  613;  617. 
Kemble,  Charles  (English  actor):  95; 
reappearance  of,  recorded  and  com- 
mented on,  519. 
Kimble,  John  Philip  (English  actor): 

613. 
Kendall    (Grimston)    William   Henry 
(English   actor):   425;    personation 
of    Tan q ut  raij    by,  mentioned,   428; 
anecdote  related  by,  quoted  and  ap- 
plied, 435. 
Kendall     (Grimston),    Mrs.    William 
Henry  ("Madge"   Robertson):  310; 
390;    404;    425;   impression    created 
by      her      personation      of      Paula 
faiiqueray,  428;  435. 
Kester,  Paul  (American  playwright) : 

76;  132. 
Kilgour,    Joseph     (American    actor) : 

487. 
"King  Henry  IV."  (play):  75. 
"King  John"  (the  old  play  of)  :  clergy 

satirized  in,  635. 
"King  Lear"  (play)  :  268;  403;  602. 
"King  Richard  II."  (play):  219;  220. 
"King    Richard    III."     (play):    219»; 
Mansfield  produces,  in  London,  628. 
Kingsley,  Rev.  Charles   (novelist   and 

poet) :  436. 
King's  Musketeer,"  "The    (play):  48. 
Kiskaden,  James:  209. 
Kiskaden,  Maude  Adams,  see  Adams 

(Kiskaden),  Maude. 
Klein,  Charles  (American  dramatist): 

178;    179. 
Klopstock,        Frederick        Theophilus 

(German  poet):  220. 
Knave,"  "The  (play) :  Ada  Rehan  acts 

in,  170. 
Knickerbocker  Theatre,  New  York 
(see,  also,  Abbey's  Theatre): 
"Colinette"  produced  at,  80;  first 
American  production  of  "The 
Sunken  Bell"  made  at,  118; 
"Sweet  Nell  of  Old  Drury"  pro- 
duced at,  by  Ada  Rehan,  132:  "The 
Eaglet"  produced  at,  218;  "Qual- 
ity Street"  produced  at,  226;  "The 
Christian"  produced  at,  435;  444. 
Knowles,    James    Sheridan:    (English 

actor   and   dramatist) :   139. 
Knowles,  John  (old-time  English  the- 
atrical manager) :  626. 


Labyrinth,"  "The  (play):  310;  pro- 
duced in  New  York,  317;  story  and 
quality  of,  and  performance  in,  by 
Miss  Olga  Nethcrsole,  considered, 
317-322. 

Lackaye,  Wilton  (American  actor 
and  playwright):  562;  revives  "The 
Pillars  of  Society,"  and  acts  Ber- 
nick  in,  574. 

Lacy,  Ernest  (American  dramatist) : 
play  by,  produced  by  Julia  Mar- 
lowe,  75. 

Lady  of  Lyons,"  "The  (play):  Mary 
Anderson's  personation  of  Pauline 
in,  considered,  39-41;   74;  349;  626. 

Lafayette  Square  Opera  House, 
Washington,  D.  C. :  first  Ameri- 
can production  of  "The  Little  Min- 
ister"  made    at,   210. 

"Lalla  Rookh"    (poem):  252. 

Lander,  Mrs.  Frederick  West  (Jean 
Davenport),  (English- American  ac- 
tress): 127;  309;  317. 

Langtry,  Mrs.  Lillie  (Emily  Charlotte 
Le  Breton — Mrs.  Edward  Langtry 
— Mrs.  Hugo  de  Bathe — Lady  de 
Bathe),  (English  actress  and  the- 
atrical manager):  195;  312;  391. 

Lawrence,  Walter  Noah  (American 
theatrical  manager) :   198. 

"Leah  Kleschna"  (play) :  produced, 
286;  story  and  quality  of,  and  per- 
sonation of  heroine  in,  by  Mrs. 
Fiske,  considered,  286-294;  305; 
403;    501;    598. 

Le  Moyne,  Mrs.  William  J.  (Sarah 
Cowell),  (American  reader  and 
actress) :  associated  with  Frank 
Worthing,  197. 

Lenotre,  (French  dramatist) : 

81. 

Leslie,  Elsie  (Elsie  Leslie  Lyde,  Mrs. 
William  Jefferson  Winter),  (Am- 
erican   actress)  :    634. 

Lewes,  George  Henry  (English  the- 
atrical critic   and  journalist):  412. 

Lewis,  Frederick  (American  actor): 
502. 

Lewis,  James  (American  actor):  203; 
486. 

Little  Duke,"  '.'The    (play):   74. 

"Little  Eyolf"  (play):  produced, 
585;  story  and  quality  of,  and  per- 
formance in,  by  Mme.   Alia  Nazi- 


INDEX 


667 


mova  and  associates,  considered, 
585-590;  561. 

"Little  Italy"  (play):  produced,  264; 
quality  of,  and  personation  in,  by 
Mrs.  Fiske,  considered,  264-267; 
305. 

Little  Minister,"  "The  (play):  first 
produced  in  America,  210;  pro- 
duced in  New  York,  211;  qualities 
of  central  character  in,  and  Maude 
Adams'  personation  of,  212-213; 
224;  403. 

Lloyd,  David  Demorest  (American 
journalist   and   dramatist) :  240. 

Logan,  Olive  (Mrs.  Wirt  Sykes), 
(American  actress,  playwright, 
&c):  128. 

"London  Assurance  "   (play)  :  245. 

Long,  John  Luther  (American  novel- 
ist and  dramatist):  252;   328. 

"Lorna  Doone"  (novel):  270;  275. 

Lost  Child,"  "The  (play) :  209. 

Lotos  Club,  New  York:  375;  384. 

Lottery  Ticket,"  "The   (play):  614. 

Louis  Philippe,  King  of  France:  218. 

Louis,  the  Fifteenth,  King  of  France: 
324,  325. 

Louis,  the  Fourteenth,  King  of 
France:  57. 

Louis,  the  Twelfth,  King  of  France: 
85. 

Love   Chase,"  "The    (play):  75. 

Lovelace,   Margaret:  57. 

Lovelace,  Richard  (English  soldier 
and  poet) :  source  of  information 
about,  57;  and  outline  of  his  life 
and  character,  57-60. 

Lovelace,  Sir  William  (father  of  the 
poet)  :  57. 

Lovell,  Mrs.  Maria  (English  dram- 
atist): 622. 

"Love  on  Crutches"  (play):  130; 
Frank  Worthing  makes  first  Ameri- 
can appearance  in,  195;  201;  202. 

"Love's  Young  Dream"  (play):  Ada 
Rehan  acts  in,  128. 

"Lucasta"   (poems)  :  58. 

Ludlow,  N.  M.  (American  actor  and 
theatrical  manager) :  614. 

Lyceum  Theatre,  London:  Mary  An- 
derson at,  and  revives  "Romeo  and 
Juliet"  there,  4;  Mary  Anderson 
revives  "The  Winter's  Tale"  at,  29; 
Daly's  Company  acts  at,  129;  "Peter 
the  Great"  produced  at,  368;  Edwin 
Booth  wishes   to   rent,   619;   Booth 


and  Irving  act  together  at,  in 
"Othello,"  620;  621;  Mary  Ander- 
son's first  appearance  at,  622;  and 
again  "The  Winter's  Tale"  revived 
at,  623;  Lawrence  Barrett  appears 
at,  627;  Irving  revives  "Much  Ado 
About  Nothing"  at,  and  public 
tribute  to  Lawrence  Barrett  on  that 
occasion,    628. 

Lyceum  Theatre  (old),  New  York: 
574. 

Lyceum  Theatre  (new),  New  York: 
"The  Pillars  of  Society"  revived  at, 
574. 

Lyceum  Theatre  School  of  Acting, 
New  York:  mentioned,  574. 

Lyons  Mail,"  "The   (play):  403. 

Lyric  Theatre,  New  York:  "The  Fool 
Hath  Said,  'There  Is  No  God"' 
produced  at,  70;  "John  the  Baptist" 
("Johannes"),  produced  at,  105;  re- 
vival of  "The  Sunken  Bell"  at,  118; 
"Rosmersholm"  produced  at,  299; 
"The  Pillars  of  Society"  revived  at, 
574. 

Lyttleton,  George,  Lord  (English 
poet):  60. 


M 


Macaulay's  Theatre,  Louisville:  Mary 
Anderson  makes  debut  at,  4;  Ada 
Rehan   associated   with,   126. 

Macaulay's  "History  of  England": 
634. 

"Macbeth"   (play):   77. 

Mackaye,  Percy  (American  dram- 
atist): 76. 

Macklin,  Charles  (old-time  English 
actor  and  dramatist) :  comment  on 
Garrick  by,  6;  610. 

Macready,  William  Charles  (English 
actor  and  theatrical  manager)  :  first 
representative  of  Richelieu,  67; 
hissed,  by  Edwin  Forrest,  612. 

Madison  Square  Theatre,  New  York: 
Frank  Worthing  associated  with, 
198;  "Alabama"  produced  at,  532; 
and  actors  in,  533. 

Maeterlinck,  Maurice  (Belgian  essay- 
ist, playwright,  &c):  351;  law  of 
his  style,  referred,  to,  352;  354; 
577;  on  "Master  Builder  Solness," 
581. 

"Magda"  ("Heimat"),  (play)  :  quality 
of,  and  personation  of  heroine  of, 


668 


INDEX 


l>\  Mr  .  Fiskc,  considered,  262-264; 
:i  1 0 ;  proposition  illustrated  in,  338- 
341;  performance  of  heroine  of,  by 
.Mis.  Patrick  Campbell,  341. 

Magistrate, Hie  (play):  495. 

Magnolia  Cemetery,  Mobile:  men- 
tioned, 3. 

.Manhattan  Theatre,  New  York:  Frank 
Worthing  hurt  at,  198;  "Leah 
Kleschna"  produced  at,  286;  "Hedda 
Gabler"  produced  at,  295;  "Mrs. 
Warren's  Profession"  revived  at, 
502;  "Ghosts"  presented  at,  567. 

Man  of  the  Hour,"  "The  (play):  403. 

Man  of  the  World,"  "The  (play) :  610. 

Mansfield,  Richard  (American  actor): 
acts  in  "Rodion  the  Student,"  71; 
487;  death  of,  alluded  to,  561;  pro- 
duction by,  in  London,  620;  finan- 
cial failure  of  his  London  engage- 
ments,  627. 

Mansfield,  Mrs.  Richard  (Susan  Hege- 
man — Beatrice  Cameron),  (Ameri- 
can   actress) :    561. 

Mantell,  Robert  Bruce  (American 
actor):  estimate  of,  in  Richelieu, 
68. 

Manxman,"  "The  (play):  made  by 
Wilson  Barrett  on  basis  of  novel, 
and  produced  in  America,  420;  qual- 
ity and  story  of,  and  Wilson  Bar- 
rett's performance  in,  considered, 
420-425. 

"Mariana"  (play):  produced,  347; 
story  and  quality  of,  and  persona- 
tion of  heroine  of,  by  Mrs.  Patrick 
Campbell,    considered,    347-350. 

Marie  Louise,  Queen  of  Austria:  217. 

Marlowe,  Julia  (Sarah  Frances 
Frost — Fanny  Brough — Mrs.  Rob- 
ert Taber— Mrs.  Edward  Hugh 
Sothern),  (American  actress),  see, 
also,  Sothcrn-Marlowe,  and  Sothern, 
Edward  Hugh):  marriage  of,  and 
Edward  Hugh  Sothern,  mentioned, 
47,  48;  birth  of,  parentage,  child- 
hood, early  education,  and  first  ap- 
pearance on  the  stage  of,  73;  early 
professional  efforts  of,  appears  as 
Parthenia,  first  appearance  of,  in 
New  York,  and  additions  to  reper- 
tory of,  74;  marriage  of,  to  Robert 
Taber,  and  divorced  from,  mentioned, 
and  plays  jointly  produced  by  them, 
75;  later  productions  made  by,  be- 
gins   professional    association    with 


Edward  Hugh  Sothern,  their  joint 
productions,  and  appear  together  in 
London,  76;  the  New  Theatre,  New 
York,  opened  by,  77;  repertory  of, 
with  Mr.  Sothern,  77;  revives  "In- 
gomar,"  and  her  personation  of 
Parthenia  in,  considered,  78-80;  acts 
in  "Colinette,"  in  New  York,  80; 
and  her  performance  in,  con- 
sidered, 80-82;  produces  "Barbara 
Frictchie,"  82;  performance  in,  84; 
produces  "When  Knighthood  Was 
in  Flower,"  84;  her  personation  of 
the  central  character  in,  considered, 
86-88;  her  personation  of  Juliet, 
considered,  88-91;  acts  in  revival  of 
"Much  Ado  About  Nothing,"  93; 
and  performance  of  Beatrice  in,  96; 
acts  in  revival  of  "Twelfth  Night," 
97;  and  her  personation  of  Viola 
in,  considered,  98-100;  acts  with  Mr. 
Sothern  in  "John  the  Baptist" 
("Johannes"),  105;  her  personation 
of  Salome  in,  considered,  111-113; 
her  opinions  concerning  that  char- 
acter, considered,  113-118;  her  opin- 
ion of  "the  Salome  of  Sudermann," 
quoted,  and  verses  by  author  ad- 
dressed to  "Gracious  Julia," 
prompted  by,  116;  acts  in  "The 
Sunken  Bell"  with  Mr.  Sothern, 
118;  her  performance  of  Bauten- 
dclcin  in,  119-120;  123;  197;  389. 

Marshall,  Wyzeman  (American  ac- 
tor) :  mentioned,  as  Hamlet,  50. 

Marston,  Westland  (English  dram- 
atist):  434. 

Martin,    (French    dramatist) : 

81. 

"Martin  Chuzzlewit"  (novel) :  reading 
from,  by  Charles  Dickens,  511. 

"Mary  of  "Magdala"  (play)  :  305. 

Mary  (Stuart),  Queen  of  Scotland: 
440. 

"Mary  Warner"    (plav):  289,  306. 

Masked  Ball,"  "The   (play):  210. 

Mason,  John  A.  (American  actor) : 
293;  as  Paul  Sylvaine,  in  "Leah 
Kleschna,"  294;  personation  of  Jack 
Brookfield,  in  "The  Witching  Hour," 
by,  547;  personation  of  Dr.  Seelig, 
in  "As  a  Man  Thinks,"  by,  553,  and 
555-557. 

Masqueraders,"  "The  (play) :  423. 

"Master  Builder  Solness"  ("The  Mas- 
ter  Builder"),    (play):    561;   story 


INDEX 


669 


and  quality,  and  performance  in,  by 
Mrae.  Alia  Nazimova,  considered, 
577-585;  produced  in  New  York, 
579;  James  Huneker,  and  Maurice 
Maeterlinck,    on,    581-582. 

Mathews,  Charles,  the  Elder  (English 
actor) :  imitations  of,  by  the  Elder 
Hackett,  mentioned,  610. 

Mathews,  Charles,  the  Younger  (Eng- 
lish actor  and  dramatist):  149;  re- 
appearance of  Charles  Kemble 
recorded  and  commented  on,  by, 
519. 

Mayo,  Margaret  (Mrs.  Edgar  Sel- 
wyn),  (American  playwright):  ver- 
sion of  "Divorcons"  by,  199. 

McAdoo,  William  (New  York  City 
Commissioner  of   Police):   504. 

McArdle,  Joseph  (theatrical  agent) : 
612. 

McCarthy,  Justin  Huntly  (English 
dramatist):  play  by,  produced,  by 
E.  H.  Sothern,  63;  Ada  Rehan  acts 
in  play  by,  166. 

McCullough,  John  Edward  (Ameri- 
can actor) :  68;   127. 

McLellan,    Charles    M S 

(American  dramatist):  286;  598. 

McRae,  Bruce  (English-American 
actor) :  304. 

McVicker,  James  Horace  (American 
theatrical   manager) :   608. 

McVicker,  Mary  (Runnion, — the  sec- 
ond Mrs.  Edwin  Thomas  Booth), 
(American  actress)  :  bad  advice  of, 
to  her  husband,  619. 

McWade,  Robert  (American  actor): 
Julia  Marlowe  acts  with,  74. 

Mellish,  Fuller  (Harold),  (English- 
American    actor) :   304. 

Meltzer,  Charles  Henry  (American 
journalist  and  playwright)  :  play  by 
based  on  "Crime  and  Punishment," 
produced,  71. 

Merchant  of  Venice,"  "The  (play): 
77;  revised  by  Daly,  131;  intention 
of  David  Warfield  to  revive,  179. 

Merrivale,  Herman  (English  dram- 
atist): 405;  434;  468. 

Merry,  Mrs.  Robert  (Anne  Brunton), 
(old-time   English  actress):   141. 

Merry  Whirl,"  "The  (musical  extrava- 
ganza) :  177. 

Merry  Widow,"  "The  (comic  opera)  : 
375. 

Merry     Wives     of     Windsor,"     ''The 


(play)  :  palliates  vulgarity,  and  Ada 
Rehan's  performance  of  Mrs.  Ford, 
in,  160-161. 

Messenger  from  Mars,"  "A  (play) : 
403. 

Metropolitan  Opera  House,  New 
York:  last  public  appearance  of 
Ada  Rehan  made  at,   132. 

Middleman,"  "The   (play):  501. 

Middleton,  George  (American  play- 
wright) :  76. 

Midnight  Bell,"  "A  (play)  :  209. 

Midsummer  Night'  s  Dream,"  "A 
(play):   196. 

Miles,  Robert  E.  J.  (American  the- 
atrical manager) :  first  appearance 
of  Julia  Marlowe  made  under,  73. 

Miller,  Anthony  (Roman  Catholic 
priest)  :  3. 

Miller,  Henry  (American  theatrical 
manager  and  actor) :  198. 

Milman,  Henry  Hart,  D.D.  (Dean  of 
St.   Paul's,  London):  616. 

Milton,  John  (the  poet) :  60;  220;  387. 

Miserables,"   "Les    (novel):   287. 

Mitchell,  Langdon  (American  dram- 
atist): 273;  281;  qualities  of  his 
"Becky  Sharp,"  287. 

Mitchell,  Maggie  (American  actress)  : 
211. 

"Mme.  Butterfly"  (play):  197;  243. 

Modjeska,  Mme.  Helena  (Helen  Opid, 
Mrs.  Gustave  S.  Modrzejewska,  Mrs. 
Charles  [Karol]  Bozenta-Chlapow- 
ska),  (Polish-American  actress): 
testimonial  performance  for  bene- 
fit of,  132;  introduces  Ibsen  drama 
to  America,  298;  "Magda"  first 
presented  in  America  by,  341;  561; 
563. 

Moliere,  John  Baptist  Pocquelin  de 
(French  dramatist,  theatrical  man- 
ager, and  actor):  23;   148. 

"Money"   (play) :  491. 

Montgomery,  Walter  (American  ac- 
tor): 194'. 

Moore,  Nelly   (English  actress):  516. 

Moore,  Thomas  (the  poet):  252;  his 
"Life  of  Sheridan,"  mentioned,  540. 

Moral  influence,  of  the  Stage:  321. 

"Moral"   Plays:  322. 

Morant,  Fanny  (American  actress) : 
518. 

Morgan,  Edward  (American  actor) : 
in  "The  Christian,"  442. 

Morris,  Clara   (Clara  Morrison — Mrs. 


670 


INDEX 


Frederick  C.  Harriot),  (American 
actress) :   1-V>;  144;  262. 

Morris,  Felix   (American  actor):   180. 

Morrow,   Prince   A ,   M.D.,  &c: 

507. 

Morton,  James  (English  dramatist): 
194. 

Mounet-Sully,  Jean  (French  actor): 
mentioned,  as  (Edipns,  364. 

Mount  fort,  Susanna  (old-time  Eng- 
lish actress) :  Cibber's  description 
of,  quoted,  125. 

Mowatt,   Mrs.    (Anna  Cora  Ogden, — 

Mrs. Ritchie) :  609;  acts  with 

E.  L.  Davenport,  in  England,  and 
success  there,  626. 

"Mrs.  Temple's  Telegram"   (play)  :  198. 

"Mrs.  Warren's  Profession"  (play): 
"Wake"  of  Mrs.  Warren,  502;  pro- 
duced at  New  Haven,  503;  produced 
in  New  York,  504;  Miss  Mary  Shaw, 
and  George  Bernard  Shaw,  on, 
quoted,  505;  Mr.  Justice  Olmsted 
(C.  S.  S.),  on,  quoted,  506;  sig- 
nificance of  identity  of  manager 
who  revived  it,  509. 

"Much  Ado  About  Nothing"  (play): 
75;  77;  revived  by  Sothern  and  Mar- 
lowe, 93;  central  characters,  and 
performance  of  them,  by  those  ac- 
tors, considered,  93-96;  revived  by 
Augustin  Daly,  131;  revived  at  Ly- 
ceum Theatre,  London,  628. 

Mudie's  Library:  mentioned,  230. 

Muir,  Jessie:  translation  of  play  by 
Bjornson,  by,  346. 

Murder:  peculiarly  atrocious,  by  a 
clergyman,  644. 

Murdoch,  James  Edward  (American 
actor):  mentioned,  as  Hamlet,  50; 
556. 

Murillo,  Bartholomew  Stephen  (the 
painter):    146. 

Murphy,  Mark:  176. 

Music  Master,"  "The  (play) :  revised 
by  David  Belasco,  and  produced  by, 
for  David  Warfield,  178;  produced 
in  New  York,  origin  of,  story  and 
quality  of,  and  David  Warfield's 
personation  of  Herr  von  Barwig, 
in,  considered:  179,  ct  seq. 

N 

"Nancy  &  Co."    (play):  196. 
Nancy,   in   "Oliver   Twist":   conspicu- 
ous performers  of,  518. 


"Nance  Oldfield"   (play):  403. 

Narrow  Path,"  "The  (play) :  389;  sup- 
pressed,  510. 

Nash,  George   (American  actor):  548. 

"Naturalists":  doctrines  of,  formu- 
lated, 380-381 ;  and  commented  on, 
381,  et  seq. 

"Naughty  Anthony"   (play):  97;  243. 

Nazimova,  Mme.  Alia  (Mrs.  Charles 
F.  Bryant),  (Russian-American  ac- 
tress): 562;  produces  "Master 
Builder  Solness"  ("The  Master 
Builder"),  in  New  York,  579;  per- 
formance of,  in  that  play,  584;  pro- 
duces "Little  Eyolf,"  in  New  York, 
585;  and  her  performance  in  that 
play,   589-590. 

Nebraska,  University  of:  504. 

Neilson,  Lilian  Adelaide  (Elizabeth 
Ann  Bland,  Mrs.  Philip  Lee), 
(English  actress):  an  example  of 
exceptional  experience,  6;  omitted 
Juliet's  "Banished"  Scene,  16;  her 
treatment  of  Rosalind,  in  "As  You 
Like  It,"  mentioned,  21;  as  Viola, 
in  "Twelfth  Night,"  alluded  to,  99; 
127;  159;  223. 

Nelson,  Admiral  Horatio,  first  Lord, 
R.  N.:  misrepresentation  of,  on 
stage,  60. 

Nethersole,  Olga  ( English- American 
actress) :  Frank  Worthing  encour- 
aged by,  194;  and  that  actor  en- 
gaged, at  request  of,  195;  studies 
of  her  acting  in  two  representative 
performances,  309-316,  and  317-322; 
her  presentation  of  "Sapho"  stopped 
by  the  police,  and  later  revived, 
316;  325;  334;  337;  390;  434. 

New  Amsterdam  Theatre,  New  York: 
"The  Sorceress"  produced  at,  358; 
version  of  "Oliver  Twist"  produced 
at,  513. 

Newcomes,"  "The   (novel)  :  270. 

New  Magdalen,"  "The  (play)  :  198. 

"Newport"    (play):    128. 

New  Theatre,  the,  New  York:  opened 
by  E.  H.  Sothern  and  Julia  Mar- 
lowe, 76;  376;  404;  "The  Thunder- 
bolt" produced  at,  488. 

Nickinson,  John  (American  actor): 
183;  226. 

Nigger,"  "The  (play):  characterized, 
377-  404. 

Night' Off,"  "A  (play):  162. 


INDEX 


671 


Nisbett,  Louisa  (English  actress) :  es- 
teem for,  as  Rosalind,  mentioned,  21. 

"Nobody's  Widow"  (play) :  produced, 
245;  story  and  quality  of,  and  per- 
formance of  Blanche  Bates  in,  con- 
sidered, 245-248. 

Non-Juror,"  "The  (play)  :  resentment 
against  clergy  manifested  in,  635. 

"Northanger  Abbey"   (novel)  :  224. 

Notorious  Mrs.  Ebbsmith,"  "The 
(play):   310. 

Nutmeg  Match,"   "A    (play):  177. 

O 

Od£on  Theatre,  Paris:  "Colinetie" 
originally   produced   at,  81. 

"O'Dowd's"  Neighbors"   (play):   176. 

"Off  the  Line"  (play) :  403. 

Old  English  Comedy:  Ada  Rehan  in, 
148,  et  seq.;  effect  of  most  actors 
in,  and  Frank  Worthing  in,  204. 

Oldfield,  Mrs.  Anne  (old-time  English 
actress) :  141. 

"Old   Mortality"    (novel):  270. 

Old  Musician,"  "The  (play)  :  180. 

Oliver,  Olive  (American  actress) : 
494. 

"Oliver  Twist"  (novel) :  "impersona- 
tions" from,  by  Charles  Dickens, 
written  and  published,  and  plays 
based  on,  produced,  512;  fidelity  of, 
to  fact,  521 ;  novel  and  plays  on — 
impossibility  of  unqualified  ju- 
dicious admiration  of,  528. 

"Oliver  Twist"  (play):  306;  Comyns- 
Carr's  version,  produced  in  New 
York,  513;  made  for  Beerbohm- 
Tree,  514;  523. 

"Olivia  (play — on  "The  Vicar  of 
Wakefield"):  186;  454;  598. 

Olmsted,    ,    Justice,    Court    of 

Special  Sessions,  New  York:  quoted, 
on  "Mrs.  Warren's  Profession,"  506. 

Olympic  Theatre,  New  York:  Ada 
Rehan   acts   at,  128. 

O'Neill,  James  (American  actor)  :  243. 

O'Neill,  Nance  (American  actress): 
518. 

"Orestes"    (plav):   268. 

Oro  Fino  Theatre,  Portland,  O.:  240. 

"Othello"  (play):  442;  563;  Edwin 
Booth  and  Henry  Irving  act  to- 
gether in,  620. 

"Othello,"— travesty  of,  615. 

Other  Girl,"  "The' (play):  198. 


Otis,  Elita  Proctor  (American  ac- 
tress): 518. 

Otway,  Thomas  (English  dramatist): 
151. 

Ouida   (English  novelist):  249. 

"Our  American  Cousin"  (play)  :  47. 

Owen,    William    F (American 

actor) :  as  Jos.  Sedley,  286. 

Owens,  John  Edmond  (American  the- 
atrical manager  and  actor) :  char- 
acteristics of,  mentioned,  and  anec- 
dote illustrating  artistic  felicity  of, 
527. 

Oxen  ford,  John  (English  dramatic 
critic,  journalist,  and  dramatist) : 
516. 


Paine's  Concert  Hall,  New  York:  176. 

Palmer,  Milly  (Mrs.  Daniel  Edward 
Bandmann),  (English  actress):  194. 

Palmer's  Theatre,  New  York:  "The 
Transgressor"  produced  at,  309; 
"Colonel  Carter  of  Cartersville" 
produced  at,  534. 

Parisian  Romance,"  "A  (play)  :  Mans- 
field produces,  in  London,  628. 

Parker,  Louis  Napoleon  (English 
dramatist,  poet,  antiquarian,  &c.) : 
210;  adaptation  of  "L'Aiglon"  by, 
mentioned,  219;  498;  499. 

Park  Theatre  (Abbey's),  New  York: 
Edward  H.  Sothern  makes  first 
appearance  at,  47. 

Park  Theatre  (old),  New  York: 
"Oliver  Twist"  produced  at,  512; 
520. 

Pasquin,  Anthony,  see  Williams,  Dr. 
John. 

Pavilion  Theatre,  London:  version  of 
"Oliver    Twist,"    produced    at,    512. 

Payne,  William  Louis  (American 
theatrical  agent)  :  323. 

"Peer  Gynt"  (play):  effect  of  its 
English  version,  production,   561. 

"P£lleas  and  Melisande"  (play) :  Eng- 
lish version  of,  produced  in  New 
York,   350. 

Penn,  William:  634. 

Pentland,  Francis  George;  see  Worth- 
ing,   Frank. 

Pentland,  Nicol  (English  actor):  193. 

Perdita,  in  "The  Wfnter-'s  Tale": 
character  of,  36-38:  essential  sweet- 
ness and  poetry  of,  37. 

"Pere  Goriot"    (novel):  293. 


GT2 


INDEX 


"Peter  Pan"  (play):  quality  of,  and 
performance  in  of  Maude  Adams, 
231-232. 

"Peter  the  Great"  (play):  produced, 
368. 

"Phantom  of  Delight"   (play):  26. 

Phelps,  Airs.  Elizabeth  Stuart  (Am- 
erican novelist ) :    136. 

Phelps,  Pauline  (American  play- 
wright): writes  in  association  with 
David    Belasco,   178;    183. 

Phelps,   Prof.   :  426;  504. 

Pickwick  Papers,"  "The  (novel): 
read  from,  by  Charles  Dickens, 
511. 

Pillars  of  Society,"  "The  (play)  :  5G1 ; 
story  and  quality  of,  considered, 
571-575;  produced,  in  America,  574. 

"Pinafore"  (comic  opera):  first  ap- 
pearance of  Julia  Marlowe  made 
in,  73. 

Pinero,  Sir  Arthur  Wing  (English 
dramatist):  198;  367;  376;  390;  431; 
432;  435;  463;  estimated,  as  a  dram- 
atist, 468;  488;  494. 

"Pique"  (play):  Fanny  Davenport 
and  Ada  Rehan  act  in,  127. 

Placide,  Henry  (American  actor) : 
183;   226;   556. 

Plays:  for  the  Stage,  or  for  the 
Closet, — distinction  between,  562,  et 
seq. 

Poe,  Edgar  Allan  (American  poet, 
romancer,  and  critic) :  misrepre- 
sented on  stage,  60. 

"Pomander  Walk"  (play):  produced, 
498;  story  and  quality  of,  and  per- 
formance of,  at  Wallack's  Theatre, 
considered,    498-502. 

Pommeroye,    de    la,    (French 

journalist  and  dramatic  critic):  on 
American  acting,  624. 

Pope,  Alexander  (the  poet):  com- 
ment on  David  Garrick  by,  6;  231. 

Porter,    Mrs.  —    (old-time    Eng- 

lish actress) :  141. 

Porter's  Knot,"  "The   (play):  182. 

Possart,  Ernst  von  (German  actor): 
produces  "The  Pillars  of  Society," 
in  New  York,  574. 

"Posthume  Poems"  (of  Lovelace)  :  58. 

Power,  Frederick  Tyrone  (the 
Younger  Tyrone  Power) :  as  Lord 
Steyne,  in  "Becky    Sharp,"   285. 

Power's  Theatre,  Chicago:  Mrs. 
Campbell  gives   her   firstAmerican 


performance  of  Mrs,  Tanqueray 
at,  1.29. 

Prayer,"  "The    (play):    151. 

Pretty  Sister  of  Jose,"  "The  (play.): 
210;  produced,  229;  story  and  qual- 
ity of,  and  performance  in,  by 
Maude  Adams,  considered,  229-232. 

Princess  and  the  Butterfly,"  "The 
(play):  495;  501. 

Princess  Theatre,  New  York:  Frank 
Worthing  and  Margaret  Anglin  act 
at,   198. 

Princess'  Theatre,  London:  "Claudian" 
first  produced  at,  411;  Edwin 
Booth's  second  London  engagement 
(1880),  played  at,  618;  and  long 
extent  of  it,   at,  619. 

Prisoner  of  Zenda,"  "The  (play)  :  48. 

Pritchard,      Mrs.      (Hannah 

Vaughan),  (old-time  English  ac- 
tress) :  141. 

Professor's  Love  Story,"  "The 
(play):   501. 

"Promise  of  May"   (poem) :  355. 

"Pygmalion  and  Galatea"  (play):  74; 
Gilbert  writes  "Comedy  and 
Tragedy"  for  Mary  Anderson,  after 
seeing  her  in,  42. 

Q 

"Quality  Street"  (play):  210;  pro- 
duced, 226;  quality  and  story  of,  and 
performance  in,  of  Maude  Adams, 
considered,  226-229. 

Queen  Fiametta,"  "The  (play):  pro- 
duced,   76;    197. 

Quin,  James  (old-time  English  ac- 
tor):  151. 

R 

Rachel,  Mile.  (Rachel  FeUix),  (French 
actress) :  admiration  of  Matthew 
Arnold  for,  159. 

Railroad  of  Love,"  "The  (play):  162; 
produced  in  London,  623. 

Rankin,  McKee  (American  actor) : 
517;  518. 

Rape  of  the  Lock,"  "The  (poem): 
231. 

Raphael,  John  (American  play 
adapter) :   232. 

Ratcliffe,  E.  J.  (American  actor): 
502. 

Raymond  (O'Brien),  John  T.  (Amer- 
ican actor) :  127. 


INDEX 


673 


Reade,  Charles  (English  novelist, 
dramatist,  and  social  reformer) : 
275;  443;  immense  inferiority  of 
Henrik  Ibsen  to,  593. 

"Realism":  in  acting  of  "Oliver 
Twist,"   520. 

Recruiting  Officer,"  "The  (play) :  149. 

"Red  Letter  Nights"  (play):  Ada 
Rehan   acts   in,   166;   167. 

Rehax  (Crehan),  Ada  (American 
actress):  Life  and  Art  of,  124-174; 
birth,  ancestry,  brought  to  America, 
first  appearance  on  the  stage,  and 
first  appearance  in  New  York,  126; 
early  professional  associations  of, 
performances  by,  is  seen  and  en- 
gaged by  Augustin  Daly,  127;  first 
performance  under  Daly's  manage- 
ment, first  performance  at  Daly's 
Theatre,  New  York,  becomes  lead- 
ing woman  there,  and  European 
tours  with  Daly,  128;  acts  Katha- 
rine at  the  London  Lyceum  Theatre, 
and  at  Stratford-upon-Avon,  visits 
Tennyson,  and  participates  in  laying 
of  corner-stone  of  Daly's  Theatre, 
London,  129;  professional  activities 
of,  outlined,  128-132;  character  and 
quality  of,  as  actress  and  woman, 
and  reminiscent  summary  of,  132- 
140;  nature  of  her  charm,  142-146. 
Her  art,  as  exemplified  in  perform- 
ance as  Katharine,  146;  in  Old 
English  Comedy, — Peggy  Thrift, 
Hippolyia,  Oriana,  &c,  148-151 ;  as 
Mile.  Rose,  in  "The  Prayer,"  151 ;  in 
passionate  characters, — Helena  and 
Katharine,  151-153;  as  Oriana,  153; 
in  characters  masquerading  in  male 
attire,  153-154;  as  Rosalind,  154-156; 
as  Viola,  157-158;  inspiration  of  en- 
thusiasm by,  158-160;  as  Mrs,  Ford, 
in  "The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor," 
160-162;  as  Doris,  in  "An  Interna- 
tional Match,"  Nisbe,  in  "A  Night 
Off,"  and  Cousin  Val,  in  "The  Rail- 
road of  Love,"  162-164;  faculty  of 
impersonation  possessed  by,  165;  as 
Xantippe,  in  "The  Wife  of  Socrates," 
and  Jenny  O'Jones,  in  "Red-Letter 
Nights"  165-167;  as  Letitia  Hardy, 
in  "The  Belle's  Stratagem,"  167- 
170;  as  Mockworld,  in  "The  Knave," 
170-172;  summary  of  the  nature  of 
her  dramatic  faculty  and  influence, 
172-174;    195;    203;   223;   245;    486; 


609;  presented  in  Great  Britain,  by 
Augustin  Daly,  and  great  success 
of,   there,   623. 

Rehearsal,"  "The   (play):  149,   150. 

Reichstadt,  Duke  of:  217;  221. 

Reimer,    Helen:    494. 

Rejane,  Gabrielle  (French  actress): 
334. 

Republic  Theatre,  New  York:  first 
New  York  appearance  of  Mrs. 
Patrick  Campbell  made  at,  338; 
"Mariana"  produced  at,  347;  Mrs. 
Campbell  presents  "The  Second 
Mrs.  Tanqueray,"  at,  429. 

Residenz  Theater,  Berlin:  Edwin 
Booth   acts   at,   620. 

Return  of  Peter  Grimm,"  "The 
(play):  produced,  178;  179;  story 
and  quality  of,  and  David  War- 
field's  personation  of  principal  part 
in,   considered,   187-191. 

Reynolds,  Sir  Joshua  (the  painter) : 
signing  of  his  portrait  of  Mrs.  Sid- 
dons,  22;  537;  539. 

Rice,  Thomas  D.  ("Jim  Crow  Rice"): 
carries  Joseph  Jefferson  on  stage, 
615;  success  of,  in  negro  character, 
614,    et   seq. 

"Richard  Lovelace"  (play):  48;  pro- 
duction of,  54;  story  and  quality  of, 
and  E.  H.  Sothern's  personation  of 
central  character  in,  considered,  54- 
62;  368. 

Richelieu,  Armand  Jean  du  Plessis, 
Duke  of,  and  Cardinal  (the  French 
statesman,  &c):  peculiarity  of,  69. 

"Richelieu"  (play):  48;  revived  by 
E.  H.  Sothern,  66;  quality  of  cen- 
tral character  in,  and  various  actors 
as,  67;  E.  H.  Sothern's  performance 
in,  considered,  68-70;  403. 

Richeson,  Rev.  Clarence  V.  P.:  crime 
of,  and  put  to  death,  639. 

Richings,  Peter  (American  actor) : 
517;    522. 

Richman,  Charles  (American  actor) : 
131;    132;    204. 

"Rip  Van  Winkle"  (play) :  Julia  Mar- 
lowe acts  in,  74;  554. 

Ristori,  Adelaide  (Marchioness 

del  Grillo),  (Italian  actress):  men- 
tioned as  Medee,  364.v 

Rivals,"  "The  (play):  Julia  Marlowe 
acts  in,  with  Joseph  Jefferson's 
"all   star"  cast,  76;  403. 

Roberts,     James     Booth      (American 


67-4 


INDEX 


actor  and  reader):  614;  acts  at 
Drury  Lane  Theatre,  London,  617. 

Robertson,  Tliomas  R.  (English  dram- 
atist): 434;  576. 

Robespierre"    (play):  368. 

Robins,  Elizabeth  (American-English 
actress  and  novelist):  561. 

Robinson,  Mrs.  (Mary  Darby 

— "Perdita"),  (old-time  English  ac- 
tress): 2;  636. 

Robson,  Stuart  (American  actor): 
appears  as  Oliver  Goldsmith,  538; 
statistics  on  immorality  of  clergy, 
compiled  by,  636. 

Roger  of  Wendover:  412. 

Rogers,  Samuel  (English  poet):  326; 
458. 

"Rogues  and  Vagabonds"  (play)  :  75. 

"Romeo  and  Juliet"  (play)  :  revived  at 
London  Lyceum  Theatre,  by  Mary 
Anderson,  4;  quality  of,  and  Miss 
Anderson's  performance  of  Juliet 
in,  considered,  13-19;  74;  first  joint 
appearance  in,  of  E.  H.  Sothern  and 
Julia  Marlowe,  76;  77;  revived  by 
Sothern  and  Marlowe,  the  play,  and 
the  performances  of  those  actors 
in,  considered,  87-93;  210;  produced 
at  Empire  Theatre,  New  York,  213; 
principal  performers  in  that  pro- 
duction, 214;  theme  of,  and  per- 
sonation of  Juliet  by  Maude 
Adams,  considered,  214-217;  310; 
Charlotte  and  Susan  Cushman  act 
central  characters  in,  together,  617. 

Romney,  George  (the  painter) :  137. 

"Rosemary"  (play):  210;  501. 

"Rose  Michel"  (play) :  72. 

Rosenfeld,  Sidney  (American  play- 
wright):   196. 

"Rosmersholm"  (play) :  produced,  and 
Ibsen's  meaning  in,  299;  story  and 
quality  of,  and  personation  of  Re- 
becca West  in,  by  Mrs.  Fiske,  con- 
sidered,   299-305;    561;    600. 

Rostand,  Edmond  (French  poet  and 
dramatist):  218;  imitations  of 
Shakespeare  by,  219;  224;  375. 

"Round  London"  (book  of  sketches)  : 
quoted,  521. 

Royal  Family,"  "The    (play)  :  403;  501. 

Russell's  comedians:  176. 

Russell,  John  R.  (theatrical  man- 
ager) :  177. 

Ryder,  John  (English  actor) :  on  Ed- 
win Booth's  Richelieu,  67. 


Sacheverell,  Lucy  (sweetheart  of 
Richard   Lovelace) :  58. 

St.  James's  Theatre,  London:  first 
production  of  "The  Second  Mrs. 
Tanqueray"  at,  425;  version  of 
"Oliver  Twist"  produced  at,  516. 

"Salathiel"  (romance)  :  412. 

Salt  Lake  Theatre,  Salt  Lake  City: 
first  appearance  of  Maude  Adams 
made    at,   209. 

"Salvation  Nell"  (play) :  produced, 
306;  story  and  quality  of,  and  per- 
sonation of  Nell  Saunders  in,  by 
Mrs.    Fiske,    306-308;    404. 

Salvini,  Tomasso  (Italian  actor): 
176;   611. 

Sampson,  William  (American  actor) : 
486. 

"Sapho"  (play) :  produced,  311;  theme 
and  quality  of,  312-316;  Miss  Neth- 
ersole's  performance  in,  and  sup- 
pressed by  police,  316;  319;  337; 
376. 

Sardou,  Victorien  (French  dram- 
atist): 202;  222;  224;  264;  368;  at- 
tributes of  plays  by,  599. 

"Sauce  for  the  Goose"  (play):  199. 

Savage,  Richard  (English  poet): 
character  of,  in  stage  representa- 
tion, 60. 

Scarlet  Letter,"  "The  (novel):  270; 
578. 

Schiller,  John  Christopher  Frederick 
von    (German    poet) :   3. 

Scholar,"  "The   (play):  58. 

"School"   (play):  576. 

School  for  Scandal,"  "The  (play): 
75;  129;  563;  "run"  of,  at  Daly's 
Theatre,   London,  625. 

Scotsman,"  "The  Edinburgh  (news- 
paper) :  commends  acting  of  Ada 
Rehan,  624. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter  (the  poet  and 
novelist):  274;  remark  of,  312; 
358;  443;  modern  reflection  antici- 
pated by,  535;  600. 

Scrap   of  Paper,"  "A    (play):  202. 

Second  Mrs.  Tanqueray,"  "The 
(play):  310;  367;  376;  404;  first 
productions  of — in  England  and  in 
America,  425;  story  and  quality  of, 
and  effect  of  its  presentation,  con- 
sidered, 425-435;  463. 

"Secret  Service"   (play):  successfully 


INDEX 


675 


presented,  in  London,  by  William 
Gillette  and  American  actors,  629. 

"Seeing  Warren"   (play):  403. 

Senator,"   "The    (play):   240. 

Shakespeare  Memorial  Theatre, 
Stratford-upon-Avon:  Ada  Rehan 
acts  Katharine  at,  129  and  623;  "As 
You  Like  It"  presented  at,  by 
Daly's  Company  and  Ada  Rehan, 
131. 

Shakespeare,  William:  intellectual 
force  of,  more  lavishly  expressed 
in  study  of  men  than  of  women,  13- 
14;  quality  of  his  lovers,  22;  his 
view  of  human  life,  as  revealed  in 
"The  Winter's   Tale,"  27-28. 

Shaw,  George  Bernard  (English 
journalist,  playwright,  and  social 
agitator):  375;  on  his  play  of 
"Mrs.  Warren's  Profession,"  505, 
and  the  same,  again,  508. 

Shaw,  Marv  (American  actress):  389; 
434;  502*;  503;  on  "Mrs.  Warren's 
Profession,"  505-506;  views  of,  on 
maternity,  509;  561;  production  of 
"Ghosts"  by,  567;  declared  purpose 
of,  in  producing  that  play,  570-571. 

Sheldon,  Edward  (American  play- 
wright): 306. 

"Shenandoah"  (play) :  acquired  by 
Charles  Frohman,*607. 

Sheridan,  Richard  Brinsley  (English 
dramatist,  theatrical  manager,  and 
actor):  misrepresented,  60;  149; 
164;  500;  539. 

"Sherlock  Holmes"  (play) :  success- 
fully presented  in  London,  by  Wil- 
liam Gillette  and  American  actors, 
629. 

Sherman,  Lucius  Adelno  (Dean  and 
University  President):  504. 

"She  Stoops  to  Conquer"  (play):  75; 
403  •  537. 

"She  'Would  and  She  Would  Not" 
(play):  149. 

Short,  Marion  (American  play- 
wright): writes  in  association  with 
David  Belasco,  178;  183. 

Shubert,  Lee  (American  theatrical 
manager) :  375. 

Siddons,  Mrs.  Henry  (Sarah  Kemble), 
(English  actress):  2;  portrait  of, 
signed  by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  22; 
141;   159. 

Sikes,  Bill,  in  "Oliver  Twist":  con- 
spicuous performers  of,  517. 


Simpson,  Edmund  (theatrical  man- 
ager) :  608. 

Skinner,  Otis  (American  actor):  acts 
in  association  with  Ada  Rehan,  132. 

Smith,  Mark,  the  Elder  (American 
theatrical  manager  and  actor):  183. 

Snowden,    Rev. :   632. 

Society:  condition  of,  631. 

"Society  for  Sanitation  and  Moral 
Prophylaxis":  507. 

Soldier,"  "The   (play) :  58. 

Son  of  the  People,"  "A   (play):  404. 

Sophocles,   364. 

Sorceress,"  "The  (play)  :  English  ver- 
sion of,  produced,  358;  quality 
and  story  of,  and  Mrs.  Patrick 
Campbell's  personation  of  Zoraya 
in,  considered,  358-361. 

Sothern,  Edward  Askew  (the  Elder 
Sothern),  (English- American  actor 
and  playwright):  Edward  Hugh 
Sothern  makes  his  first  theatrical 
appearance,  in  company  of,  and 
principal  successes  of,  47. 

Sothern,  Edward  Hugh  (American 
actor) :  Biographical  facts  relative 
to,  summarized,  and  Studies  of  his 
Acting,  47-73;  and  in  association 
with  Julia  Marlowe  (the  Sothern- 
Marlowe  Combination),  88-123; 
marriage  of,  with  Julia  Marlowe 
(Taber),  (q.  v.),  birth,  first  appear- 
ance on  the  stage,  47;  conspicu- 
ously successful  productions  by, 
enumerated,  48;  his  revivals  of 
"Hamlet,"  and  his  personation  of 
central  character  in  that  play,  con- 
sidered, 49-54;  his  production  of 
"Richard  Lovelace,"  54;  his  per- 
sonation of  central  character  in  that 
plav,  considered,  60-62;  his  produc- 
tion of  "If  I  Were  King,"  63;  and 
his  personation  of  Villon,  in,  con- 
sidered, 65-66;  his  revival  of 
"Richelieu,"  66;  and  his  persona- 
tion of  central  character  in,  con- 
sidered, 66-70;  compared  with  that 
of  Robert  B.  Mantell,  68;  his  pro- 
duction of  "The  Fool  Hath  Said, 
'There  Is  No  God,'"  70;  begins 
professional  association  with  Julia 
Marlowe,  their  joint  productions, 
and  acts  with,  in  London^  76;  the 
New  Theatre,  New  York,  opened 
by,  77;  repertory  of,  with  Miss  Mar- 
lowe, 77;  his  personation  of  Romeo 


676 


INDEX 


eclipsed  by  Miss  Marlowe's  of  Juliet, 
88;  and  considered,  92-93;  acts  in 
revival  of  "Much  Ado  About  Noth- 
ing," 93;  and  performance  in,  9,5; 
BCtS  in  revival  of  "Twelfth  Night," 
with  Miss  Marlowe,  97;  and  per- 
sonation of  MaXvolio  by,  considered, 
1  on- 102;  acts  in  "John"  the  Baptist" 
("Johannes")  with  Miss  Marlowe, 
105;  his  personation  of  its  central 
character,  considered,  110,  et  seq.; 
his  opinions,  concerning  "John  the 
Baptist,"  considered,  113-116;  re- 
vives "The  Sunken  Bell,"  with  Miss 
Marlowe,  118;  his  performance  of 
Heinrich,  in,  119-120;  389;  quoted, 
on  "love,"  404. 

Sothern-Marlowe  Combination,  the 
(professional  alliance  of  Edward 
Hugh  Sothern  and  Julia  Marlowe — 
q.  v. — at  first  under  management  of 
Charles  Frohman,  then  under  that  of 
Messrs.  Sam  S.  &  Lee  Shubert, 
Inc.):  88;  reason  for  failure  of  en- 
gagement of,  in  London,  629. 

Southey,   Robert    (the  poet):   231. 

Squire,"  "The   (play):  495. 

Stage,  the  American  (the  institution) : 
origin  and  growth  of,  143. 

Standard  Theatre,  San  Francisco: 
176. 

Starr,  Frances  (American  actress) : 
487. 

Star  Theatre  (old),  New  York:  Julia 
Marlowe  acting  at,  74;  first  Ameri- 
can production  of  "The  Second  Mrs. 
Tanqueray"  at,  425 ;  "Claudian"  first 
produced  in  America  at,  411. 

Stockwell,  L.  R.  (American  theatrical 
manager) :    240. 

Stockwell's  Theatre  (the  Columbia), 
San  Francisco:  first  stage  appear- 
ance of  Blanche  Bates,  made  at, 
240. 

Stoddart,  Mrs.  George  (English  ac- 
tress):   521. 

Strand  Theatre,  London:  Ada  Rehan 
acts  at,  623. 

Stuart,  William  (Edward  O'Flaherty, 
theatrical  agent,  manager,  and  jour- 
nalist, in  America) :  attacks  on  Ed- 
win   Forrest   by,   mentioned,   612. 

Studley,  John  B.  (American  actor): 
517;'  plays  Bill  Bikes,  in  "Oliver 
Twist,"  with  Charlotte  Cushman, 
526. 


Stuyvesant  Theatre,  New  York: 
opened,  178. 

Suckling,  Sir  John  (English  poet): 
60. 

Sudermann,  Hermann  (German  dram- 
atist):  76;  "John  the  Baptist," 
English  version  of  his  "Johannes," 
produced,  in  New  York,  105;  110; 
inclination  of  his  mind  specified, 
111;  113;  114;  116;  119;  262;  338; 
355;  358. 

Sue,  Eugene    (French   novelist):  412. 

"Sue"    (play):  242. 

Sun,"  "The  London  (newspaper):  616. 

Sunken  Bell,"  "The  ("Die  Ver- 
sunkene  Glocke"),  (play):  48;  76; 
revival  of,  at  the  Lyric  Theatre, 
New  York,  118;  quality  and  con- 
tent of,  and  performances  of  cen- 
tral characters  in,  by  Mr.  Sothern 
and  Miss  Marlowe,  119-120:  "Glos- 
sary" of,  120-123. 

Surrey  Theatre,  London:  version  of 
"Oliver  Twist"  produced  at,  512; 
James  Henry  Hackett  acts  at,  610; 
615. 

Sutherland,  Mrs.  (Miss  Coombs,  Mrs. 
Charles  St.  Thomas  Burke),  (Amer- 
ican actress)  :  517. 

Sutro,  Alfred  (English  manufacturer 
and  dramatist):  198. 

"Sweet  Lavender"  (play):  495;  501; 
602. 

"Sweet  Nell  of  Old  Drury"  (play): 
132. 

Swift,  Jonathan,  satirist  and  Dean 
of  St.  Patrick's,  Dublin:  343;  600; 
604. 

Symonds,  Arthur  (English  critic): 
version  of  "Electra,"   by  364. 


Taber,  Robert  (American  actor) : 
marriage  of,  with  Julia  Marlowe, 
and  divorced  from,  mentioned,  and 
their  professional  association,  75. 

Taft,  Hon.  William  Howard  (ex- 
President  of  the  'United  States  of 
America)  :  pardon  granted  by,  645. 

Taming  of  the  Shrew,"  "The  (play)  : 
77;  Daly's  Theatre,  London,  opened 
with  a  performance  of,  129;  re- 
vived by  Ada  Rehan,  132;  Ada 
Rehan's  first  appearance  in,  in 
Great   Britain,  623. 


INDEX 


677 


"Tartuffe"  (play)  :  resentment  toward 
Clergy  manifested  in,  635. 

Telbin,  William  (English  scenic 
artist):  411. 

Tempest,"  "The  (play):  revived  by 
Augustin    Daly,    131. 

Tennyson,  Alfred,  first  Lord  (the 
poet) :  his  plays  of  "The  Cup"  and 
"The  Falcon" 'studied  by  Mary  An- 
derson, 5;  6;  visited  by  Augustin 
Daly  and  Ada  Rehan,  129;  288; 
355. 

Termagant,"    "The    (play):  310. 

Terry,  Ellen  (Mrs.  George  Frederick 
Watts,  Mrs.  Charles  Kelly  [Charles 
Wardell],  Mrs.  James  Usselmann 
[James  Carew]),  (English  actress): 
and  Henry  Irving,  in  "Much  Ado 
About  Nothing,"  alluded  to,  96;  125; 
142;  146;  165;  173;  365;  369;  per- 
formance of,  in  "Godefroi  and 
Yolande,"  372;  440;  611;  acts  Des- 
demona,  in  "Othello,"  %vith  Booth 
and  Irving,  620;  success  of,  as 
Juliet,  mentioned,  622. 

"Tess  of  the  D'Urbervilles"  (novel): 
qualitv  of,  267-270. 

"Tess  of  the  D'Urbervilles"  (play): 
produced,  270;  story  and  quality  of, 
and  personation  of  Tess  in,  by  Mrs. 
Fiske,  considered,  270-273. 

Thackeray,  William  Makepeace  (Eng- 
lish novelist):  136;  281;  character- 
istic attributes  of,  273;  274-275;  let- 
ter by,  relative  to  Mrs.  Crawley 
{Becky  Sharp),  quoted,  284;  498. 

Thalia  Theatre,  Hamburg:  presenta- 
tion to  Edwin  Booth,  at,  621. 

Theatre,  the:  modern,  its  true  prov- 
ince, 336;  not  a  fit  place  for  dis- 
cussion of  "the  social  evil,"  &c, 
506,  et  seq.;  (Stage)  unjust  attacks 
on,  631;  justice  and  charity  due  to, 
as   much   as   to   the   Church,  648. 

Thief,"  "The  (play):  produced  in 
America,  471;  story  and  quality  of, 
and  performance  of,  considered, 
472-478;  501. 

Thirty-ninth  Street  (Nazimova's) 
Theatre,  New  York:  "As  a  Man 
Thinks"  produced  at,  548;  "Little 
Eyolf"  produced  at,  585. 

"This  Picture  and  That"   (play) :  240. 

Thomas,  Augustus  (American  dram- 
atist) :  198;  238;  representative 
plays  of,  described  and  considered, 


529-557:  nature  of  genius  manifest- 
ed in  plays  by,  529;  wise  choice 
of  locality,  in  "Alabama,"  532;  his 
"Colonel  Carter  of  Cartersville," 
based  on  story  by  F.  Hopkinson 
Smith,  533-534;  spirit  shown  in  his 
"Oliver  Goldsmith,"  540;  his  "The 
Witching  Hour"  "a  great  play," 
and  analyzed,  541,  et.  seq.;  excel- 
lence of  his  "As  a  Man  Thinks," 
548,  et  seq.;  598. 

"Thora"  ("A  Doll's  House,"— q.  v.), 
(play) :  produced,  563. 

Thorne,  Charles  R.,  Sr.  (American 
actor):  517;  original  performer,  in 
America,  of  Bill  Sikes,  in  "Oliver 
Twist,"  517;  522. 

Thorne,  Sarah  (English  theatrical 
manager  and  actress) :  Frank 
Worthing  in  theatrical  company  of, 
194. 

"Thorough-bred"  (play) :  Ada  Rehan's 
first  New  York  appearance  made 
in,   126. 

Three  Daughters  of  M.  Dupont," 
"The  (play):  produced,  374;  story 
and  quality  of,  defence  of,  by  Lau- 
rence Irving,  and  his  production  of, 
in   New  York,   considered,  375-388. 

Thunderbolt,"  "The  (play):  pro- 
duced in  America,  488;  story  and 
quality  of,  and  performance  of,  at 
the  New  Theatre,  considered,  488- 
495;    501. 

Ticket-of-Leave  Man,"  "The  (play): 
David  Warfield's  first  stage  appear- 
ance made  in,  176;  289;  306. 

Times,"  "The  London  (newspaper) : 
516. 

Titheradge,   (English   actor) : 

347;  352. 

"To  Althea,  from  Prison"  (poem) :  58. 

Toole,  John  Lawrence  (English  actor 
and  theatrical  manager) :  acts  the 
Artful  Dodger,  516. 

Toole's  Theatre,  London:  Ada  Rehan 
acts  at,  128  and  623. 

Torrence,  David  (American  actor) : 
238. 

Transgressor,"  "The  (play)  :  produced 
in  New  York,  309. 

"Travesty  of  'Othello-'"  (burlesque): 
615. 

Tree,  Sir  Herbert  Beerbohm-  (Eng- 
lish actor  and  theatrical  manager): 
159;     250;     produces     version     of 


678 


INDEX 


"Oliver  Twist,"  513;  "business"  of, 
as  F(Kii»,  515. 

"Trelaw'ney  of  the  Wells"  (play): 
495. 

Tribune,"  "The  New  York  (news- 
paper) :  letter,  by  W.  W.,  quoted 
from,   632;    633;    634. 

Tupper,  Martin  Farqubar  (verse 
maker):    601. 

"Twelfth  Night"  (play):  74;  77;  re- 
vived by  Sothern  and  3Iarlowe,  97; 
the  play  and  the  performances  in,  by 
those  actors,  considered,  97-104;  130; 
200;  long  "run"  of,  at  Daly's  Thea- 
tre, London,  625. 

Two  Escutcheons,"  "The  (play): 
196. 

Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,"  "The 
(play)  revived,  by  Augustin  Daly, 
130;' 195. 

Tynan,  Brandon  (American  actor): 
585;  in  "Little   Eyolf,"  590. 

Tyree,  Elizabeth  (Mrs.  James  S.  Met- 
calfe), (American  actress):  574. 

U 

Ugly  Duckling,"  "The  (play):  first 
stage  appearance  of  Mrs.  Leslie  Car- 
ter   made   in,   323. 

"Uncle   Silas"    (play):   72. 

"Under  Two  Flags"  (play):  243;  pro- 
duced, 249;  story  and  quality  of, 
and  personation  of  Cigarette  in,  by 
Blanche  Bates,  considered,  249-252. 

Union  Square  Theatre,  New  York:  72. 


Valentinian,  Roman  Emperor:  329. 

Vandenhoff,  George  (English- Ameri- 
can actor) :  instructs  Mary  Ander- 
son, 4;  mentioned  as  Hamlet,  50. 

"Vanity  Fair"  (novel) :  qualities  of, 
considered,  273,  et  seq. 

Vanbrugh,  Sir  John  (English  dram- 
atist):   148;    286;    361. 

"Vathek"   (romance):  252;  270. 

Versunkene  Glocke,"  "Die  (play) : 
76,— and  see  Sunken  Bell,"  "The. 

Vicar  of  Wakefield,"  "The  (novel): 
537. 

Victoria  Theatre,  New  York:  "P611eas 
and  Melisande"  produced  at,  350. 

Villon,  Francois  (French  poet,  sol- 
dier-of- fortune,  &c.)  :  63. 


Viola,  in  "Twelfth  Night"  (play): 
character  of,  99-100;  inspiration  of 
the  character,  and  Ada  Rehan's  per- 
sonation   of,    considered,    156-158. 

"Virginius"    (play) :  403. 

Voltaire  (Jean  Francois  Marie  Arouet 
de),   (French  philosopher):  435. 

W 

Wainwright,  Bishop:  636. 

Walker,  Charlotte  (Mrs.  (Dr.)  John 
B.  Hayden,  Mrs.  Eugene  Walter), 
(American  actress):  404. 

Wallack,  Fanny  (Mrs.  Moorehouse), 
(English  actress  and  reader):  518. 

Wallack,  Henry  John  (English- 
American    actor) :    518. 

Wallack,  James  William,  the  Elder 
(English-American  theatrical  man- 
ager and  actor):  518;  556. 

Wallack,  James  William,  the  Younger 
(American  actor) :  mentioned,  as 
Fagin,  517;  520;  author's  reminis- 
cences of  his  personation  of  Faqin, 
in  "Oliver  Twist,"  524-527;  528.' 

Wallack,  Lester  (John  Johnstone 
Wallack,  "Mr.  Lester"),  (American 
theatrical  manager  and  actor):  144; 
201;   204;   608;    634. 

Wallack's  Theatre,  New  York:  199; 
202;  "Sapho"  produced  at,  311; 
presentation  there,  of  that  play, 
stopped  by  the  police,  and  resumed, 
316;  334;  "Pomander  Walk"  pro- 
duced at,  498. 

Walter,  Eugene  (American  news- 
paper reporter  and  playwright) : 
375;   376;  404;  479;   480;  481. 

Ward,  Artemus  (Charles  Farrar 
Browne),  (American  humorist):  his 
Mormon's  view  of  "The  Lady  of 
Lyons,"   349. 

Ward,  Genevieve  (Mrs.  Constantine 
de  Guerbel— "Guerebella"),  (Amer- 
ican actress):  125;  144;  personation 
of  Stephanie  De  Mohrivart,  in  "For- 
get Me  Not,"  by,  considered,  405- 
410. 

Ward,  Mrs.  Humphry  (English  novel- 
ist): 436. 

Wahfield,  David  (American  actor): 
Biographical  outline,  and  Studies  of 
His  Acting,  175-191 ;  compared  with 
Joseph  Jefferson,  and  attributes  of 
personality  of,  175;  birth,  first  ap- 


INDEX 


679 


pearance  on  stage,  and  removes  to 
New  York,  176;  becomes  associated 
with  the  Casino  Theatre,  New  York, 
and  with  Weber  and  Fields,  and 
acts  in  burlesque  of  "Catherine," 
177;  professional  alliance  with 
David  Belasco,  and  four  produc- 
tions under  Belasco's  management 
made  for,  178;  intention  to  pro- 
duce "The  Merchant  of  Venice," 
179;  production  of  "The  Music 
Master,"  play,  and  personation  of 
Herr  von  Barwig  in,  considered, 
179-182;  opens  the  Stuyvesant  Thea- 
tre, New  York,  acting  in  "A  Grand 
Army  Man,"  182;  "A  Grand  Army 
Man,"  and  his  personation  of  Wes' 
Bigelow  in,  considered,  182-187; 
first  approach  to  realm  of  imagina- 
tion by,  187;  "The  Return  of  Peter 
Grimm,"  and  his  personation  of  cen- 
tral character  in,  considered,  187- 
191. 

"Warren,  William  (American  actor) : 
144;  183;  556. 

Warton,  Thomas  (poet  and  critic) : 
539. 

Watkins,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Henry  (Amer- 
ican actors)  :  success  of,  in  England, 
627. 

"Wealth"   (play):  501. 

Weber,  Joseph  ("Joe" — American 
Music  Hall  manager  and  per- 
former):  177. 

Webster,  Daniel  (American  states- 
man): remark  of,  quoted,  635. 

Western,  Helen  (American  actress) : 
518. 

Western,  Lucille  (Mrs.  James  H. 
Meade),  (American  actress):  2; 
518. 

Whalley,  W H (Ameri- 
can actor) :  518. 

"What  Every  Woman  Knows"  (play)  : 
210;  produced  in  America,  235; 
story  and  quality  of,  and  perform- 
ance in,  by  Maude  Adams,  con- 
sidered, 235-238;  403. 

Wheat  ley,  Mrs.  Frederick  (Sarah 
Ross),  (old-time  American  actress)  : 
141. 

"When  Knighthood  Was  in  Flower" 
(play):  75;  produced  in  New  York, 
82;  outline  of  story  of,  87. 

"When  We  Dead  Awaken"  (play): 
560;  561. 


White  Pilgrim,"  "The  (play) :  403. 

"Whitewash":  lines,  by  W.  W.,  in- 
spired by  Julia  Marlowe's  views  of 
Sudermann's  Salome,  116. 

Whytal,  Russ  (American  actor)  :  per- 
sonation of  Judge  Prentice  in  "The 
Witching  Hour,'*'  by,  547. 

Wife's   Evidence,"  "A    (novel):  72. 

Wife  of  Socrates,"  "The  (play): 
166. 

Wife  Without  a  Smile,"  "A  (play): 
198. 

Wild  Duck,"  "The  (play):  561. 

"Wild  Oats"  (play) :  resentment  to- 
ward Clergy  manifested  in,  635. 

Wilde,  Oscar  (English  playwright, 
verse  maker,  &c.)  :  376;  608. 

Williams,  Barney  (American  actor) : 
609;  and  Mrs.,  success  of  in 
England,    609. 

Williams,  Dr.  John  ("Anthony  Pas- 
quin"),  (English  dramatic  critic): 
173. 

Williams,  Montague,  Q.  C.  (English 
lawyer) :  521. 

Wills,  William  Gorman  (English 
dramatist):  411;   415;  434;   454. 

Wilton,  Marie  (Lady  Squire  Ban- 
croft): 125. 

Winslow,  Erving:  on  the  quality  of 
Ibsen,  595. 

Winslow,  Mrs.  Erving  (Kate  Reig- 
nolds),  (American  actress  and 
reader)  :  561. 

Winter,  Arthur:  634. 

Winter  Garden  Theatre,  New  York: 
version  of  "Oliver  Twist"  by  Joseph 
Jefferson,  produced  at,  516. 

Winter,  Louis  Victor:  634. 

Winter,  (William)  Jefferson  (Amer- 
ican actor):  131;   634. 

Winter's  Tale,"  "The  (play):  revived 
by  Mary  Anderson,  4;  quality  and 
story  of,  Mary  Anderson's  revival 
of,  and  her  personations  of  Her- 
mione  and  Perdita  in,  described,  27- 
38;  "run"  of,  at  Lyceum  Theatre, 
London,  29;  353;  revived  by  Mary 
Anderson,  623. 

Witching  Hour,"  "The  (play):  403; 
501;  "a  great  play,"  and  pro- 
duced, 541;  quality  and  story  of, 
and  personations  in,  considered, 
541-548;  598. 

Witch  of  Ellengowan,"  "The  (play)  : 
131. 


680 


INDEX 


Wofnngton,  Margaret  (old-time  Eng- 
lish   actress):    141;    144;    153. 

Woman's  Way,"  "A  (play):  199. 

Wonder,"      "The  ,    (play):      248. 

Wood,  Anthony  A   (antiquarian):  57. 

Wood,  George  (American  theatrical 
manager):    608. 

Wood,  Mrs.  John  (Matilda  Vining), 
(English-American  actress  and 
theatrical  manager):  154;  2-23. 

Woods,  "Al"  H.  (American  theatrical 
speculator):  389;  significance  of 
fact  that  he  revived  "Mrs.  Warren's 
Profession,"  509. 

Wood's  Museum,  New  York:  Ada 
Rohan's  first  appearance  in  New 
York  made  at,  126. 

Wordsworth,  William  (the  poet): 
quoted,  on  ordinary  womanhood,  9; 
1 1 ;  ideal  seen  by,  in  his  "Phantom 
of  Delight,"   26;"  140;  593. 

World  and  His  Wife,"  "The  (play)  : 
403. 

Worthing,  Frank  (Francis  George 
Pentland),  (English-American  ac- 
tor) :  sketch  of  his  Life  and  Art, 
192-209;  death  of,  192;  birth,  edu- 
cation, and  adopts  stage-name,  193; 
beginning  of  theatrical  career  of, 
193;  early  professional  associations 
of,  and  first  appearance  in  London, 
and  acts  Orlando,  194;  engaged  by 
Augustin  Daly,  first  appearance  in 
America,  first  appearance  in  New 
York,  and  acts  in  "Two  Gentlemen 
of  Verona,"  195;  various  perform- 
ances by,  leaves  Daly's  Company 
with  Miss  Maxine  Elliott,  and  tours, 
196;  various  professional  associa- 
tions     of,     enumerated,      197-199; 


artistic  excellence  of,  peculiarities, 
and  personal  appearance  of,  199- 
203;  artistic  felicity  of,  and  suc- 
ceeds John  Drew  in  Daly's  Com- 
pany, 201;  as  Charles  Surface, 
203;  effect  of,  in  Old  English  Com- 
edy, 204;  not  universally  admired, 
205;  characterization  of,  205-207; 
Elegy  for,  by  W.  W.,  207;  tribute 
to,  by  Blanche  Bates,  240-242;  as 
David  Brandon,  in  "The  Children 
of  the  Ghetto,"  456. 

Wycherley,  William  (English  dram- 
atist): 148. 

Wyndham,  Olive  (American  actress): 
in   "The  Thunderbolt,"  493. 

Wyndham,  Sir  Charles,  Kt.  (English 
actor  and  theatrical  manager) : 
Frank  Worthing  associated  with, 
194;   200. 


Yates,  Mrs.  Richard  (Anna  Maria 
Graham),  (old-time  English  ac- 
tress) :  141. 

Yale   University:  504. 

Young,  Sir  Charles  (English  dram- 
atist):  598. 


Zamacois,  Miguel  (French  dramatist)  : 

232. 
Zangwill,  Israel  (English  novelist  and 

playwright):    197;    449;    450;    451; 

453;  454. 
"Zanoni"    (novel):  270. 
"Zaza"  (play)  :  337. 
"Zira"     (play— based    on    "The    New 

Magdalen") :  198. 


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